“Look! look!” he whispered in joyful surprise. “There they are—both of them!”
Sure enough, sprawled in a familiar fist, could be read “Jay Marcy” and “Gerald B. Saxton,” under a stated date.
Philip turned quickly to the man. “Are Mr. Marcy and Mr. Saxton still with you? I’m very anxious to meet them, sir.”
“Two gentlemen from New York? at least one of them? No; they went from here several days ago.”
The disappointment was as sudden as the hope.
“Do you know what place they left for?” asked Philip, eagerly—“their addresses? We want to get a message forwarded to them as soon as possible.”
The man consulted a memorandum-book. “I don’t know where they were going to. H’m! Letters to be sent to the Epoch Club, New York, and to the Ossokosee Hotel. That’s Mr. Marcy’s address. He’s the proprietor.”
“Papa belongs to the Epoch,” whispered Gerald.
“You are sure they did not expect to return here at present?”