Bert’s stay in Louisville was brief, and all the more so, because neither Tom nor Dick was there to meet him, as they had planned. Bert took it for granted that something out of the ordinary had happened, however, and bore his disappointment as philosophically as he could.
“No doubt they’ve been delayed,” he thought, “and will meet me in the next town. That will be a spur to me to go faster so that I can see them sooner.”
He had a refreshing sleep, and was up early, resolved to make a profitable day of it. After he had eaten breakfast, he paid his bill, and was just going out the door when the clerk stopped him. “Just a minute, sir,” he said. “Here’s a telegram for you. I almost forgot to give it to you.”
“When did it come?” asked Bert, as he took the yellow envelope and prepared to open it.
“Oh, just about an hour ago,” replied the clerk, “no bad news I hope?”
This question was occasioned no doubt by the expression of Bert’s face. “Come quick,” the telegram read, “Tom very sick; may die. We are in Maysville. Dick.”
Bert’s voice shook as he addressed the hotel clerk. “One of my friends is very sick,” he said. “He’s in Maysville. How long will it take me to get there?”
“Well, it’s a matter of close on two hundred miles,” replied the clerk, in a sympathetic voice, “but the roads are fair, and you can make pretty fast time with that machine of yours.”
Bert whipped out his map of Kentucky, and the clerk pointed out to him the little dot marked Maysville.
“All right, thanks,” said Bert, briefly, “good-bye.”