Paul liked the stranger's face. He was a man of about thirty-seven or thirty-eight, with clear, honest eyes, and an open, gentlemanly bearing. It was plain that the business on which he wished Paul to go was important. The boy's sympathies were with him, but still he hesitated.
"Whereabouts in Redmead?"
"To Oakville, the house of Mr. Moncrief."
"Moncrief!" cried Paul. "I've a chum at school named Moncrief—Stanley Moncrief."
"He's my son. The gentleman living at Redmead is Stanley's uncle. What is your name?"
"Paul Percival."
"I've often heard my boy speak of you. Glad to make your acquaintance, though I wish our introduction had taken place under happier circumstances."
His chum's father! Paul was all aglow. He hesitated no longer.
"Give me your message, sir. I shall only be too pleased to do anything for Stan's father."
Mr. Moncrief wrote rapidly on a sheet from his pocket-book: