“Give the telephone number of the Inn,” Virginia said when her brother turned to her for a suggestion.
This was done and the three young people hurried across the hall and sat in the queer little parlor to await a call from Harry.
Several times the phone rang but it was always for someone else.
At last the lone clerk at the desk went away and while he was gone the telephone rang imperatively several times in rapid succession. Malcolm sprang up and answered it, then he beckoned to the girls.
“It’s for us,” he told them; then to Harry, who was at the other end of the line, he said, “This is Malcolm Davis. Surely you remember me, don’t you?
“I stayed several days at your place two years ago in September. I thought you’d remember that. We had great fun that day, didn’t we? Yes, I do plan coming up north again some time, but today I called up to ask about our friend Tom. We are eager to get into communication with him as soon as possible.
“He isn’t in town with you, is he? What? You don’t know where he is? Has he left you? How long has he been gone? Over a week now? And no trace of him has been found? There hasn’t been a storm, has there? Hum! That certainly is serious. You are sending out a searching party? When do they leave? I’ll try to get there. Yes, indeed. I’ll start for your place as soon as I possibly can. Goodbye.”
“Malcolm, what is it? What has happened to Tom?” Virg asked her face suddenly paled with anxiety.
The lad led the girls back to the stiff little parlor.
“Tom hasn’t deserted them, has he?” Virginia asked eagerly. “Oh, brother, I am so sure he hasn’t proved untrustworthy.”