“Why, yes—I suppose so.”
“And he is red-haired!” gasped Dorothy. “Oh, what’s his name, Mr. Travers?”
“Tom Moran; he’s worked for me before—”
“Oh, Doro!” cried Tavia.
“Oh, Tavia!” echoed Dorothy.
CHAPTER XXII
ON THE TRAIL
“It seems almost impossible that a man with such a red head could so completely drop out of sight,” sighed Tavia the next day.
The boys had just combed Dalton “with a fine-toothed comb” for the elusive Tom Moran, and had bagged nothing. He had gone—vamoosed—disappeared—winked out; all these synonyms were Tavia’s. The girls had discussed the disappearance until there seemed nothing more to be said.
“We don’t really know that he was Celia’s big brother,” said Dorothy, reflectively. “But it seems very probable. Even your father knew that he was a bridge builder.”