At the hotel Tom and Harry went to their accustomed seats in the dining room. Their food was brought and the two young engineers fell to work cheerfully. Just then a well-dressed man of perhaps thirty years entered the dining, room, spoke to one of the waiters, and came over to the engineers' table.
“Messrs. Reade and Hazelton?” he inquired pleasantly.
“Yes,” Harry nodded.
“May I make myself known?” asked the stranger. “My name is Danes—Frank Danes.”
Harry in turn gave his own name and that of Tom.
“I wonder if you would think it intruding if I invited myself to join you at this table?” the stranger went on.
“By no means,” Tom responded cordially. “We'll be glad of your company. It will stop Hazelton and myself from talking too much shop.”
“Oh, by all means talk shop,” begged Danes, as he slipped into a chair at one side of the table. “I shall enjoy it, for I am interested in you both. In fact, I took the liberty of asking the waiter to point you gentlemen out to me.”
“So?” Tom inquired.
Danes had the appearance of being a well-to-do easterner, and announced himself as a resident of Baltimore.