"Got that wire with you?" I asks.
Yes, Mrs. Bliss had all the documents right handy. I takes the yellow sheet over under the readin' lamp and squints at it sleuthy, partly to kill time, and partly because I couldn't think of anything else to do. And of course they all have to gather round and watch me close, as if I was about to pull some miracle. Foolish! It was a great deal worse than that.
"H-m-m-m-m!" says I. "Philadelphia. I suppose there's some sort of naval trainin' station there, eh?"
Mr. Robert says there is.
"But if Wilfred was at it," I goes on, "and didn't want you to find him, he wouldn't have sent this from there, would he?"
Mrs. Stanton Bliss sighs. "I'm sure I don't know," says she. "I—I suppose not."
"Must be somewhere within strikin' distance of Philadelphia, though," says I. "Now, what camp is near?"
"Couldn't we wire someone in Washington and find out?" asks Mrs. Bliss.
"Sure," says I. "And we'd get an official answer from the Secretary of War about 11 A.M. next spring. It'll be a lot quicker to call up Whitey Weeks."
They don't know everything in newspaper offices, but there are mighty few things they can't find out. Whitey, though, didn't even have to consult the copy desk or the clippin' bureau.