"See Duncaster by all means," read part of the message, "and offer him ten points above par for the stock—all he has. It's a big price, but it will soon be worth more. See him soon."
"I'll make a trip out there Monday," decided Dick. "Whew! Things are beginning to happen evidently."
With Paul for a companion our hero hired an auto and made the journey to Hardvale. Grit sat on the floor of the tonneau, with a contented look on his ugly but honest countenance.
"Grit may come in handy if Duncaster sets his dogs on us," remarked Dick with a grim smile, as they bowled along at good speed.
"Why, do you expect trouble?" asked Paul.
"Not exactly, but I imagine he hasn't much use for me. He didn't act very friendly the last time we met, and then the sight of the auto may make him angry, remembering how we ran him down. But it's too slow to take a horse. I hope we find him at home."
It was rather a lonesome part of the country through which they were traveling—a sparsely settled district that, somehow, reminded the young millionaire of the gloomy landscape at Dankville where his Uncle Ezra lived.
Mr. Duncaster was at home, a fact which a crabbed old housekeeper conveyed to the boys in no very cheerful voice.
"But I don't believe he'll see you," she added. "He's just woke up from his afternoon nap, and he's always a little riled then."