“Hang me ef I don’t b’lieve I’ve seen him afore!” exclaimed the boy from Vermont. “Them whiskers look nattral. It is——”
“Professor Scotch, as I live!” joyfully shouted Frank Merriwell. “Will wonders never cease! This is miraculous.”
The little man ran forward and caught Frank’s hands, looked into his face, as if making sure he was not mistaken, and then clasped the boy in his arms.
For some time the little man was nearly overcome with joyful emotions, and Frank was scarcely less delighted.
It was, in truth, Professor Horace Scotch, Frank’s guardian, who had thus marvelously appeared in Tangier.
Mutual explanations followed quickly. Frank told how he happened to be there, and then the professor related how on arriving in London he had received a letter from the boy, but had been disappointed beyond measure when Frank did not appear in due time. He had written scores of letters and sent many telegrams, but had been unable to learn anything more than that Frank had left Buenos Ayres in a vessel bound for South Africa, but which had been lost at sea.
The professor had nearly given up all hope of ever seeing his protégé again, thinking Frank must be dead. He resolved, however, to make every effort to ascertain the facts as to Frank’s fate, and had left London for that purpose.
The United States Consul at Tangier was an old friend of the professor, and thus it came about that Scotch had visited him.
Then the boys came.
The professor was so agitated that his explanation was somewhat incoherent, but Frank was able to get the drift of it.