At length he flung his cigar-stump into the fire, and turning to his friend, exclaimed:
"Sam, I can't stand this uncertainty any longer. I'm going out to see if I can't find somebody who will undertake to go up to the professor's house and back for twenty dollars, just to make sure those boys have got safe home. I'd go myself, only I know I should never get there."
The assayer shook his head.
"No use, Tom," said he. "You couldn't get one to go; at least, not for money. If it were to dig a friend out of the snow you could raise a hundred men in a minute; but for money—no. I don't believe you could get any of them to face this storm for twenty dollars—or fifty, either. They would say, 'What's the use? If the boys are in, they're in; if they're not——'"
"Well, if they're not—— What? I know what you mean. You chill me all through, Sam, with your 'ifs.' Look here, old man, isn't there anybody who would go? Think, man, think!"
"We might try little Aleck Smith, the teamster," said the assayer, thoughtfully. "He's as tough as a bit of bailing-wire and plum full of grit. We'll try him anyhow. Come on. I'll go with you. It's only six houses down. Jump into your overcoat, old man!"
The two men turned to get their coats, when, at that moment, there came a thump upon the porch outside, as though somebody had jumped up the two steps at a bound, the door burst open and in the midst of a whirl of snow there was blown into the room the muffled, snow-coated figure of a boy, who, slamming the door behind him, leaned back against it, gasping for breath.
The men stared in astonishment, until the boy, pulling off his cap, revealed the face, scarlet from exposure, of Dick Stanley.
"Why, Dick!" cried the assayer. "What's the matter? Where's young Frank?"