"Telegram for you, Mr. Hamilton—it came collect," announced the janitor.
"Humph. Can't be from dad, he always pays his messages," remarked Dick, as he handed over the money, and tore open the envelope. When he had read the few words he gave a gasp of astonishment.
"What's the matter?" asked Paul quickly. "Bad news."
"No. Good!" cried Dick. "Listen. This is from Mr. Duncaster—no wonder he sent it collect. He says: 'Have your letter. I will grant your request and sell you the stock. Come and see me at once, as I am leaving for Europe for my health. I go to-night.'"
"Then you'd better hustle out to Hardvale!" cried Paul. "Hurray! That's great."
Slowly Dick crushed the telegram in his hand.
"I can't go," he said slowly.
"Why not?"
"I haven't time to go out there and get back to play the game—and—I'm going to play the game!"