Reluctantly the lad moved away.
He was not in the least sleepy. Nevertheless because he had given his word he dragged himself across the lawn, mounted the stairs to his room, and began to undress. His spirits were very high. Within an hour or two—three hours at the very most—the telephone would ring and Mr. Crowninshield would announce to him the glad tidings that the thief had been caught. Then some one would motor to Barnstable, Brockton, or wherever it was, recapture Lola, and bring her back, and the events of the past few hours would be only a nightmare. And it would be Bob—he and Bob—who brought about this glorious climax to a day of catastrophes. And if such a result was accomplished had not the owner of Surfside promised that he would never forget the service?
For his own part Walter wanted nothing. If Lola could only be found his happiness would be complete. But if only Mr. Crowninshield would do something wonderful for Bob! Perhaps he might give him a big sum of money; he could well afford to. Or maybe he would put him in the way of earning it. There was no telling what Aladdin-like feats he might perform. Such a man was all powerful. Why, he could send Bob to Europe if he chose! Or pay the mortgage on the house. He could make Bob's fortune.
The younger boy thrilled at the thought.
With these optimistic and intriguing fancies in mind he slipped into bed and soon dozed off into dreams wilder and even more extravagant. He slept soundly and awoke with a bewildered cry when a knock came at the door.
"It's I—Wheeler, shaver! The boss wants you on the telephone."
Up scrambled Walter, his stupor banished by the agitation of the moment.
He did not wait to don his clothes but in his pajamas took the stairs two at a time and soon had his ear to the receiver.
"Walter?"
"Yes, sir."