“What’s that about burglars?” asked the officer.
Whereupon Larry told how Mr. Randall had mistaken him for a robber as he was escaping from the factory.
“We’ll raid that place,” said the policeman, “but I guess they’ll skip out as soon as they find you’re gone.”
And this proved to be so. When, after Larry’s arrival at the station, a note of his having been found was telephoned to police headquarters, a squad of bluecoats started for the old factory. They found it deserted.
“I suppose I can go home now?” said Larry, when he had complied with all formalities.
The sergeant behind the desk nodded and smiled at the lad.
“I’ll take you,” spoke Mr. Randall. “I don’t want to see you kidnapped again before your mother has a chance to look at you.”
He insisted on going all the way with the boy, and into the Dexters’ rooms. Such excitement as there was when Larry burst in on them! Mrs. Dexter was in despair, and Mr. Newton, who was trying to comfort her with the hope that her son would soon be found, was not succeeding very well.
Mrs. Dexter threw her arms about Larry, and hugged him and kissed him as only a mother can. James and Mary capered about their brother and Lucy fairly cried for joy.
“Bless my soul! What a cold I have!” Mr. Randall said, blowing his nose with unnecessary violence, and, under pretense of it, wiping the tears from his eyes, which flowed at the sight of Mrs. Dexter’s joy. “Most extraordinary weather for colds I ever saw, isn’t it?” appealing to Mr. Newton.