“I believe he’s stopping here,” he said. “In fact, you happen to be talking to him at this moment. Why?”
“Well, now!” The man stared up. “Are you him?”
“I’m it,” laughed Frank. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Why, I was down to the railroad dee-po jest now, when a tellygram come in fer a feller o’ that name. The agent, he couldn’t come up very well, so I said I’d fetch it along and see if you was here.”
While he spoke, the man began fishing in the pocket of his overalls, and at last pulled out a yellow envelope. Merry took it with a nod. He knew that there was no regular telegraph office in the little town, messages being handled from the railroad station, so he thought little of the matter.
“Well, I’m much obliged to you for your trouble,” he said, taking out a quarter as the man handed him the message. “If you’ll take——”
“No, thanks, mister,” and the man turned away without taking the money. “I couldn’t take nothin’, thanks. So long.”
“So long,” said Frank.
He tore open the message, as the man slouched away down the street. It was a typewritten message, and had evidently been received at Carsonville some ten minutes previously.
“By gracious!” he said. “What the deuce has struck Uncle Dick, anyhow? And where or what is Orton?”