As there seemed nothing more to do just then they at last went to sleep, and did not rouse up again until it was broad daylight.
They immediately asked for further news, but were informed that none had come in. Nor did any word come in all that forenoon.
"This suspense is fierce," was Dick's remark, at last. "That conductor is either asleep or has given up the search. I wish I knew of some first-class detective on the other end of the line who could take up the case for us."
"We'd know somebody if Tom was bound for San Francisco," returned his brother. "But I don't know a soul in Seattle—oh, yes, I do!" he suddenly shouted.
"Who, Sam?"
"A fellow named Jim Hendricks. He is a cousin of Stanley Browne, and also a cousin to Larry Colby, who went to Putnam Hall with us. He was at Brill once, for a week, and I got pretty well acquainted with him."
"Why, yes, I remember him. He and I used to talk about what Larry and I did at Putnam Hall. But is he in Seattle now, and have you his address?"
"I think I have his address. Wait, I'll look," end Sam pulled a little notebook out of his pocket. "He asked me to write to him some time, but I never did more than mail him a postal. Yes, here is the address."
"Do you think he would help us, if he was home?"
"Sure I do. He got acquainted with Tom, and he knew what chums Tom and Larry were at the Hall."