"Go right in the parlor, and help yourself," replied the farmer's wife.
As Dick rang on, and stood waiting, transmitter at his ear, he first thought of calling for the police station.
"No, I won't, either," he muttered. "This belongs to my paper.
Let them tip off the police. Hello! Give me 'The Blade' office,
Gridley, please."
Dick waited patiently a few moments. Then:
"Hullo! 'The Blade?' This is Prescott. Is Mr. Pollock there?
He is? Good! Tell him I want to speak with him."
Then Mr. Pollock's voice sounded over the wire.
"Hullo, Prescott! Why aren't you on hand, with that big Dodge story hanging over our heads? Why, it brought me down hours before fore my time."
"Pollock, I've found Dodge," replied Dick Composedly. "At least,
Darrin and I——-"
"What's that!" broke in the editor's excited voice. "You've found
Dodge? Alive?"
As rapidly as he could young Prescott told the story. Mr. Pollock listened gladly.