“Is Mr. Weckler sick, too?” Dad inquired.
“Miz Clayton says some one tried to murder him.”
“What?” cried Dad.
“It’s her story that she found him lyin’ in the library in a pool of blood. Robbery, I s’pose. Well, let’s hope I get there in time to save him.” There was some hurried talk about Mother’s medicine. She would be all right by morning, Doc said. Then the front door slammed.
I got my chum out of bed in a jiffy.
“Did you hear that?” says I excitedly.
“What?” says he, looking at me sleepily.
“A robber broke into old Mr. Weckler’s house to-night and tried to murder him.”
Poppy bounced three feet.
“Quick!” says I. “Jump into your clothes.”