It was a hot night, and Frank was glad when the train came along and he could sit by the open window and catch the breeze. The train made fast time, as it sped along past plantation after plantation, and across numerous brooks and rivers.
“I am certainly having my share of adventures,” thought the young book agent. “Who would have dreamed of meeting Gabe Flecker on this trip?”
He had had supper with Mr. Lee, who had insisted upon paying for a very elaborate meal, and by nine o’clock he fell into a doze, from which he did not awaken until the train rolled into the commodious station at Charleston.
“All out for Charleston!” was the cry, and gathering up his dress-suit case, he followed the crowd out on the station platform and then into the station itself.
“Frank!” called a joyful voice presently, and up rushed his big brother, Mark, as brown as a berry from his long sea trip.
“Mark!” returned our hero, and the brothers shook hands warmly.
“My! but it does a fellow’s eyes good to look at you,” went on Mark.
“I can say as much,” answered Frank, with a smile. “But tell me, have you learned anything new about Jabez Garrison, Mark?” he continued, anxiously.
“Nothing much. But I am pretty sure he is still at the Planters’ House. But I haven’t seen that Flecker or Becker again.”
“And you won’t—for a while.”