Tom’s first sensation had been one of triumph. His enemy was at his mercy! But in the face of Mr. Connors’ grief and anxiety all such thoughts disappeared in an instant, his wrath melted away and only an eager sympathy remained.
“I’ll get you there if it can be done, sir,” he said eagerly. “Dad, how far is Finley Falls?”
“About fifty miles by railroad. A little more by the dirt roads, I suppose. Can you do it, son?”
“Yes, sir, I can do it. I want Will, though, dad. Will you telephone him and tell him to hustle right over to the garage? I’ll get the car, Mr. Connors, and bring it around right away.”
“I’ll go with you,” replied the liveryman. “It’ll save time.”
“All right, sir, come along! Good night, dad! Good night, ma! Don’t wait up for me, for I can’t tell when I’ll get back!”
Seizing a coat and his cap from the hat-tree in the hall, Tom hurried through the door, closely followed by Mr. Connors. Mr. Benton was to send a telegram to Mr. Chase.
“What time is it now, sir?” asked Tom, as they turned toward the garage.
“Six-forty,” answered Mr. Connors. “And that telegram was sent at half-past four. My God, Benton, when will we get there?”
“I’ll get you to Finley Falls in an hour and a half if The Ark will hold together!”