"I don't care," grinned Walter. "I'm not afraid of Mr. Burns. He's driven me out of the station too many times when I was a kid. I will own, however, that I have more respect for him since I've learned what it means to run a telegraph."
"He may drive you out of the station this time," Dick ventured with a grimace.
"I'll bet he won't," was the sanguine response. "We've made it up since then. I've even helped old Burnsie shovel his snow now and then. He'll do a good turn for me, I'll bet."
"Come on then, if you are so sure of it," Dick answered, striding toward the garage.
"You're sure your father won't mind our taking the car?"
"He doesn't want it this morning. He is going to hang round and see if Bob calls him from New York. Besides, he said it was too hot to motor. Will Burns be at the station now?"
"He will if a train is due," announced Walter. "If the office is locked we can chase him to his house."
"All right! This is your party, remember," Dick said a trifle wickedly. It was evident he had no faith in the expedition. Notwithstanding his skepticisms, however, he ordered out the car and he and Walter sped away on their errand.
"It is time for a train," announced Walter in an undertone, as they neared the station. "See, there are people waiting. It is the noon train from Boston."
"Burns will be too busy then to bother his head over fake messages, I guess," sniffed Dick.