“He told me to tell you,” Mrs. Brun said, “that they were taking him to Atlanta.”
“Atlanta!” exclaimed Ned.
“There is a federal prison there,” said Frank. “Well, what happened next?” he asked the housekeeper.
“Your uncle begged and pleaded for time, saying he wanted to see you, and tell you of certain matters. But the men—they must have been detectives I guess—”
“Probably secret service men,” interrupted Frank. “But go on, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Brun.”
“They took him away,” said the housekeeper. “That’s all there was to it. They said there was a train they could get from New York to-night, and they hurried off. Your uncle only had time to pack a suit case of clothes, and they took him away. And what’s to become of all of us, or who’s to look after things, I don’t know!” she sobbed.
“Well, there’s no use worrying,” said Frank. “I’ll go to see Mr. Thursby. He’s a lawyer, and Uncle Phil has consulted him on some matters. He can tell us what to do. If worst comes to worst we’ll let this house, get rent for it, and shift for ourselves. You can easily get a place,” he said to the housekeeper, “and so can the other servants, probably.”
“Oh, yes. It isn’t about that I’m worrying,” she announced, drying her eyes; “it’s you poor boys! What will you do without a home?”
“Without a home?” exclaimed Ned. “Why, won’t we have this place?”
“Oh, no, Ned, dear!” cried Mrs. Brun, who was very like a mother to the boys. “Your uncle said this house was attached also, and that you couldn’t stay here. I don’t know what you are going to do. You can’t rent it and use the money, either.”