If it was humanly possible he would have to get to Toronto in time to stop that creditors’ meeting that night. The assignment could be withdrawn. As yet probably nothing irrevocable had been done, but by to-morrow the arrangements for liquidation would have been made, and it might be too late.
He could, indeed, send a telegram to Mr. Armstrong if he could reach the wire in time; but he doubted whether that would be enough. The situation needed a personal explanation.
He knew that a stage left Oakley, connecting with the morning train going down.
“What’s the shortest way to the railroad?” he demanded. “I’ve got to get to the city by evening.”
“Well, there’s the morning train down from Ormond,” said the messenger. “But you can’t make it. It’ll take you ’most all day to get to Ormond.”
“That’s mebbe the shortest way, but it ain’t nohow the quickest,” remarked Lynch. “Leastways, if you’ve got a canoe. I reckon Charlie’s got his pretty near patched up by this time.”
“How do you mean?” Tom demanded.
“Why, paddle down to the foot of Little Coboconk, and then right down the river, for mebbe fifteen or sixteen miles. You’ve been that way. You remember where a little creek runs out through a big swamp and into the river? Well, you land on the side opposite the creek, and the railway ain’t much more’n five miles straight west, right across the bush. It’ll be rough traveling, maybe, but you ought to make it in three or four hours.”
Tom glanced at his watch. It was just after seven o’clock. The train left Ormond at ten-thirty. He could surely make it. A moment later Charlie came up for instructions, having finished the repairs to his canoe.
“Hold on, Charlie! I’m going with you,” Tom exclaimed. “I’ll try it, Lynch. Are you sure the raft’s safe?”