“Nothing wrong, I hope?” ventured the station master, after the telegram had been paid for and sent.
“We don’t know yet. That is what we wish to find out,” answered Dave. And then, to keep the man in good humor, he passed over a dollar and told the agent to treat himself from a small case full of cigars which were on sale in the depot.
After that there was nothing for Dave and Roger to do but to wait. The agent sat down to read some newspapers which had been thrown off the last train that had passed through, and even offered some of the sheets to them. But they were in no humor for reading. They walked outside, and a short distance away, and there discussed the situation from every possible angle.
“If we don’t get any news, what shall we do?” queried the senator’s son. “I’m so upset that I know I won’t be able to sleep a wink to-night.”
“Upset doesn’t express it, Roger,” returned Dave soberly. “When I read that telegram it seemed fairly to catch me by the throat. If anything has happened to Jessie and Laura——” He could not finish.
“Dave, do you suppose those gypsies——”
“I was thinking of that, Roger. Such things have happened before. But let us hope for the best.”
Slowly the best part of two hours passed. Then the station master, having looked through all the newspapers, came out of his office, yawning and stretching himself.
“How much longer would you fellows like me to stay?” he questioned. “You know I open up here at six in the morning, and I live about a mile away and have to hoof it.”
“Oh, don’t go away yet,” pleaded Roger. “The message may come in at any minute. They’ll be sure to send an answer as soon as they get what we sent.”