“Your plan is certainly 'for keeps,' as we children used to say. Come along. Your plan is adopted. Have you written Lady Fernborough? 'Tis your turn.”
Many days of fruitless travel and the young men began to despair of success. Quincy was debating with himself whether it would not be better to give up the search for his mother, and follow up the clue about his father. He felt that every day was precious.
“I have an idea, Quincy,” Tom said one morning. “Perhaps your mother is quite sick and has gone to a public hospital or a private one of some kind.”
“That's a fine idea, Tom. We'll begin on them after breakfast.”
The sharp reports of gun shots and the softer cracking of pistols were heard.
“What's that?” cried Quincy.
“Some men are on a strike. They had trouble with the police last night and this morning's paper says the strikers have thrown up barricades. Probably the police and soldiers are trying to dislodge them.”
The firing continued, and from their windows the soldiers and people could be seen moving towards the scene of disturbance.
“Let's go out and see what is going on,” said Quincy.
“Let's stay in and keep out of trouble,” was Tom's reply. “It is the innocent bystander who always gets shot.”