They had left bad roads behind, and now, spinning over hard and smooth highways, they found themselves, a little after nine o’clock that morning, in the city of Durham.
“Now for Mr. Jackson!” cried Ned, as they inquired the way to the sanitarium where the millionaire operator was staying.
Up the broad road, through the entrance gates went our heroes. The place was attractively laid out, and was quite celebrated as a health resort for overworked men and women of the wealthy and fashionable class.
“We’ll let you do the talking, at first, Professor,” decided Ned, as he guided the car around the turns in the road.
“Yes, I’ll be glad to meet my friend Mr. Jackson again. I think—hold on just a moment, Ned. I think I see a rare kind of beetle.”
The boys were in a hurry, but the memory of the good service the professor’s beetles had done the previous night made them willing to stop the car. Mr. Snodgrass got out, and succeeded in capturing a bug, the possession of which seemed to give him great delight. Then Ned speeded up the machine as the latest specimen was carefully put away.
They came to a halt in front of a sort of hotel-sanitarium, and Ned and Mr. Snodgrass went to the front door.
“Well, now, I’m real sorry, but you’ve had your trip for nothing,” the manager informed them, when they had stated whom they wished to see.
“Why, isn’t Mr. Jackson here?” asked Ned anxiously.