“Glad to,” was the answer, “but,” and a grim look crossed the superintendent’s face as he spoke, “don’t waste any time waiting for the message, Chip. Lenning’s in this up to his eyes.”
It was dinner time at the Ophir House, and the gong which called guests to meals had long since sounded. Frank and his friends, as soon as they could get some of the dust off their faces and hands, went into the dining room and took their places at the table.
As the robbery had been the one exciting topic in the street, so was it now the principal event discussed by those at the tables. Lawlessness is always a theme that draws universal attention, and this was particularly the case in a town like Ophir.
Although a Western town with a past that was pretty turbulent, in later years it had settled down into a peaceful and orderly little burg. The robbery, therefore, had caused a ripple of excitement, since crime of any sort was in such decided contrast to the ordinary mood of the place.
Frank was no more than half through his meal when, somewhat to his surprise, Pophagan called to him from the dinning-room door: “Ye’re wanted at the phone, Merriwell!”
“There it is!” exclaimed Blunt, with much satisfaction. “Burke’s calling to tell you that Lenning’s at the mine.”
“That must be the case!” exclaimed Frank, hurrying from the room to answer the call.
The rest of the boys finished their meal hurriedly, and, by the time they were done and out in the office, Frank came out of the little booth where he had been receiving his message. There had been a change in his face. It no longer wore a pleased expression, but was heavy and troubled.
“What’s to pay, pard?” demanded Blunt.
“The message wasn’t from Burke,” said Merry, “and that’s about all I can tell you now. Will you take a ride with me, Barzy?”