The letter was not long, and, after some minor instructions and some suggestions, came this passage:
'"I wonder if either of you remembers the case of the Englishman who wrote us at much length some six months ago concerning his son, 'lost or missing'—we did not succeed in finding him in New York——"'
'And small wonder,' chuckled Dave, whose memory was a storehouse. 'We hadn't even the skeleton of a description.'
'"In New York, you remember,"' I read on, '"and it has seemed to me that you may as well look out for him in your intervals of leisure, if there are such."'
'Old man's growing sarcastic,' grumbled my friend.
'"It's a good thing, if successful,"' I continued; '"and the Fair is the best place in the world for a 'hide out.' If the young fellow's above-ground I'll wager something he's in Chicago now; that is, if he really did come to America a year ago, as his fond father (?) writes. I enclose for your further information his letter; and I would be proud of the fact if you two fellows could unearth him at the Columbian City. I give you carte blanche for the case."'
'Umph! That means roll up your sleeves and go in.'
I took up the copy of the Englishman's letter. 'Shall I read it?' I asked, 'or is it——'
'Don't say "engraven on your memory,"' implored Dave. 'Yes—go ahead.'
'"Dundalk House,
'"January 3, 1893.
'"Messrs. ——.