Well, we were struck dumb, sort of. For, with Mr. Ricks aboard the speeding train, what chance had we to exchange the useless dress patterns for the needed drawings? None. Our helplessness made me sick.
“He’ll discover the mistake when he gets to Washington,” Scoop said finally, “and wire us. Then we can mail the drawings, registered. It will delay matters; but it’s the best thing that we can do under the circumstances.”
“Tom’s pa never sent a telegram in all his life,” waggled Aunt Polly. “He won’t know how.”
Nevertheless a telegram came that afternoon. Scoop read it aloud. There was a dead silence. Then Tom went in search of his relative.
“Aunt Polly,” he said, “you’ve got to get ready for a trip.”
“Laws-a-me!” gasped the old lady, suspecting the truth. “What awful thing has happened to your pa?”
“He took the wrong train out of Chicago. And how he ever happened to get off at Springfield, Illinois, I don’t know. But he’s there—the telegram says so. And the dress patterns have come up missing.” [[26]]
“Gennor’s work!” cried Aunt Polly, acting as though she was ready to collapse.
Tom nodded grimly.
“Pa is no match for the crooks. And you’ve got to go to him and help him. They won’t get the real drawings away from you. And you can stay in Washington till the drawings have been registered in the patent office.”