“Wait at least another half-hour,” added Dave.
“All right;” and the agent went back into his office, to settle himself in his chair for a nap.
Ten minutes later the telegraph instrument began to click. The station agent jumped up to take down the message.
“Is it for me?” questioned Dave, eagerly, and the station master nodded. Then the two youths remained silent, so that there might be no error in taking down the communication that was coming in over the wire.
“Here you are,” said the agent at last, handing over the slip upon which he had been writing. “I’m afraid there is trouble of some kind.”
Like the other message, this was from Dave’s father, and contained the following:
“Laura and Jessie left on visit to Boston four days ago. Thought them safe. They did not arrive and no news received. Suspect gypsies. Everybody upset. Mrs. Wadsworth prostrate. Will send any news received.”
Dave’s heart almost stopped beating when he read this second telegram, and he could not trust himself to speak as he allowed his chum to peruse the communication.
“Oh, Dave, this is awful!” groaned the senator’s son.
“So it is,” responded our hero bitterly. He read the message again. “I wonder what we can do?”