Mr. Claus went out, and this time he did not bow himself through the door as he had done the night before. The boys heard him going downstairs, and then turned and looked at each other.
"Somebody has been posting those fellows," said Claus, as he hurried away toward Casper's room. "I wonder if there was a detective in there while I was at the office? Two attempts have failed, but the third is always successful."
Claus was almost beside himself with fury, but he retained his wits sufficiently to guide him on the road to Casper's room. He found the boy in, seated in a chair, with his elbows on his knees, trying his best to make up his mind what he was going to do, now that he had been discharged from the telegraph office. He had sat that way ever since eleven o'clock in the forenoon, and had not been able to determine upon anything. The first intimation he had that anybody was coming was when the door was thrown open and Claus came in, muttering something under his breath that sounded a good deal like oaths.
"There is no need that you should say anything," said Casper. "You have failed."
"Yes, sir, I have; failed utterly and plump," said Claus.
"And I have been discharged."
"Whew!" whistled Claus. "You are in a fix, aren't you?"
"Yes, and I don't know what I shall do now. Tell me your story, and I will tell you mine."
"No; and I have no money."