“No. The train had only one parlor car on it, and that was crowded. Mr. Wadsworth had telegraphed for seats, but there had been some mix-up, and as a consequence the girls had to put up with seats in one of the day coaches. Mrs. Wadsworth told them they had better wait for another train, but they laughed and said that they would rather go into one of the day coaches than lose the time.”
During this conversation Dunston Porter had started up the automobile and was on the way to the Wadsworth mansion. In a few minutes more they rolled up to the piazza, and there Dave’s father and Mr. Wadsworth came out to greet them, followed by the trembling form of Professor Potts.
It was a sorry home-coming for our hero, and Roger was equally affected. They shook hands with those who were there to greet them, and for the moment the emotions of all were so deep that nobody trusted himself to speak. All went inside, and it was old Caspar Potts who broke the silence.
“If I were only a younger man!” he said in a trembling voice. “Davy, it’s up to you to do something—you and your friend Roger.”
“I’m going to do it if I possibly can, Professor,” answered the youth, huskily.
All sat down and the Crumville folks gave to the young civil engineers all the particulars they had concerning the strange disappearance of the two girls.
“And are you quite sure it is the work of those gypsies?” queried Roger.
“I don’t see who else would play such a dirty trick,” responded Mr. Wadsworth.
“Dave has another idea,” went on the senator’s son.
“What is that?” asked Dunston Porter quickly, while the others looked up questioningly.