“Was he mad?”
“Well, he said,” began the older boy, when his brother interrupted with: “What’s the use of repeating what Mr. White said, Phil? Just give the gentleman the telegram.”
Acting on the suggestion, Phil handed the piece of yellow paper to the agent, and both boys forgot their loneliness in their amusement at the changes of expression that followed one another across the man’s face.
“Jumping elk! Wish I’d been here,” he exclaimed, as he finished reading the message. “I haven’t got twenty-five—”
“Never mind, we don’t need it,” interposed Ted, “but if you will show us the hotel, we shall be obliged.”
“Hotel?” And the agent chuckled. “There isn’t a hotel within thirty miles.” But observing the looks on the boys’ faces, he added: “But I can find a place for you to put up, all right, all right. Come on.” And he began to pick up the young homesteaders’ hand baggage.
“How about our trunks?” inquired Phil.
“They’ll be just as safe on the platform as anywhere, unless it rains,” returned the agent. “I’ll come down for them later.” Then, noting their well-fitting clothes and hands, which showed no sign of hard labour, his face evidenced his wonder at their presence.
“Got folks here?” he asked, his curiosity proving greater than his control.
“No,” returned Phil.