“Why didn’t I work the money order racket?” said Arthur, as he reluctantly shouldered his pack. “Ransom’s in luck this time.”
For a week Kenneth waited for word from home; then he began to get nervous; he did not know if all was well or not. Letters came for the other boys, but none for him. He got more than nervous; he became absolutely anxious. Moreover, he wanted to get under way again. The little town of Commerce, with its 1,600 people, he had explored thoroughly; made excursions into the woods and had some good shooting; but in spite of unaccustomed pleasures he was restless. He wanted to be moving down the river again. Whether it was the lack of news from home or some other cause, he could not tell, but he had a foreboding of some impending disaster. At the end of the sixth day of his stay in the little Missouri town Frank appeared. An anxious look was on his face.
“My! I’m glad to see you, Ken,” said he. “We wondered what had become of you, so I traipsed over to see.”
Kenneth explained the difficulty. “Everything all right aboard the ‘Gazelle’?” he asked.
“Well, no,” Frank said reluctantly. “When are you coming back?”
“To-morrow, I hope. But what’s the matter aboard?” Kenneth remembered his forebodings. “Don’t keep me waiting; what is it?”
“The fact is, Arthur’s sick, and neither Clyde nor I know what to do for him.”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“I don’t know. He has a bad cold and some fever, I guess, and he seems kinder flighty.” Frank began to reveal his anxiety. “When he showed up the other day after walking from here he talked sort of queer about the game you played on him, the girls you met, and about a feather bed—got ’em all mixed up. Had a terrible cough, too. He’s in bed now.”
“I wish I could go back with you, but I will have to wait for that money—I need it.”