“Nat, do you think—” began Tavia slowly, “do you think that Roger may have gone to find Joe?”
“That’s just what he would be apt to do, good little sport that he is,” said Nat, troubled eyes on the road ahead. “Poor Dot! I hate to think how she will feel if we fail to bring back the bacon, in the shape of my young cousin.”
“Where are you going, Nat dear?” asked Tavia, after a moment of silence. “You seem to have some definite objective.”
“I have,” declared Nat, as he slowed down before an imposing white house. “I am going to visit the home of every kid in the neighborhood that Roger plays with. Then, if I fail to gain a clue, I haven’t the faintest idea what to do next.”
“Never give up till you try,” urged Tavia. “Hurry, Nat—do! I feel as though I were on pins and needles.”
“Not very comfortable,” returned Nat, grinning, as he swung his long legs over the car door without bothering to open it.
Tavia watched him swing up the drive, ring the bell of the imposing white house, and, a moment later, hold converse with the owner of it. She knew by the manner in which he came back to her that the interview had been disappointing.
“Nothing doing,” he said in response to her tacit question. “The lady of the house, backed by the kid in there, says they haven’t seen our youngster to-day.”
“The plot thickens,” murmured Tavia. “Poor Doro. What shall we tell her?”
“Hold your horses, young lady,” Nat advised her. “We have several other places to visit before we begin to give up hope. We’ll find him yet.”