“I have,” said Frank, with conviction. “Wish I could feel as optimistic as you. But it strikes me poor Bob is in one fix, and we stand a poor chance of rescuing him.”
CHAPTER XV.
MEETING THE REVOLUTIONISTS.
While the boys continued their operations, they talked continually in lowered tones over the possibilities of the situation. No matter what turn the adventure should take, they were firmly determined not to leave the desert alive without Bob. Each felt in his heart that he would never dare face life if he deserted their comrade in his hour of peril. Despite his more buoyant spirits, Jack realized the difficulties of effecting a rescue should Bob ever get inside Athensi as well as did Frank.
Presently they became silent, to some extent by reason of absorption in their work, but also because their thoughts had strayed elsewhere. Frank in spirit was back at their peaceful home on the far end of Long Island. He could see the great house of the Temples, homey and comfortable, among the spreading elms and maples. He could see the tennis court where so often he had performed, and flying over it was a familiar figure in short white skirt, hair bound back with a bandeau, vigorously wielding the racquet against an unseen opponent. Della.
It would be tough to pass out without seeing her again. But tougher still to have to go home and acknowledge that he had let her brother be captured and carried away to certain death without having done his utmost, even to life itself, to rescue him.
“If I don’t come back, old scout,” he muttered, soundlessly, “maybe word of it will get to you some way.”
“Here,” said Jack, “quit talking to yourself.”
Frank looked up guiltily. “Did—did—you hear what I said?” he asked.
“No,” said Jack. Then he regarded him fixedly. “Della’s the real stuff, Frank,” he said. “She’s worth everything.”
Frank dropped his eyes, but reached out to squeeze Jack’s hand.