"Guess I will," agreed the young millionaire, and he drew out the letter. It was filled with general news of Hamilton Corners, and Mr. Hamilton expressed the pleasure it would be to see his son again, when school closed. Then followed this:
"Now, Dick, I've got what may prove quite a task for you this summer. I don't know what your plans are, but I hope you will have time to give me a little assistance.
"You remember I once spoke to you of some valuable property your mother owned, and how I planned to form a syndicate and erect a large factory on it. Well, I started the syndicate, got a number of friends interested in it, and we were ready to go ahead when unexpected difficulties cropped up. We found it hard to interest outside capital because of a certain flaw in the title to the property, and, curiously enough, the flaw has to do with some distant relatives of your mother.
"These relatives have disappeared, and I have been unable to get a trace of them. It is very necessary that I find them, and I am in hopes that you can help me. So, Dick, there is work cut out for you this summer, if you wish to do it. Come home as soon as you can after the academy closes, and I will tell you more about this. It is very important, not alone to me, but to a number of comparatively poor persons who have invested money in this enterprise, and who may lose if the affair is not straightened out. I am depending on you to help me."
Dick folded up the letter and put it back in his pocket. His face wore a serious look.
"Any bad news?" asked Paul, anxiously.
"No; only it seems that I'm about to start off on a mysterious quest for missing relatives."
"That sounds good. Wish I had something like that to occupy me this summer. I hope you have luck."
"Thanks. I haven't the least idea where I'm to go, or how. But dad will explain when I get home."
"Come on, now, everybody! We're going to sing 'Farewell to Old Kentfield'!" cried Ed Watson. "Everybody!"
The cadets leaped to their feet, and soon the strains of the grand old song welled out of the banquet hall. Grit, the bulldog was hoisted to a place of honor on two chairs, beside Dick, and he looked on as if he understood it all.
The banquet was nearing an end, and at last, with a clasping of hands around the tables, and a rendering of another verse of the song, while cheers for Dick were mingled with the strains, the affair came to a close.