He tore it open, and glanced at the signature. Then he looked up quickly.
"What was that Bronson fellow's name, Edith?"
"Tony."
"Then this is from him. Odd we should just have been talking about him. Humph!"
Mr. Franklin's face grew grave, then angry, as he read the letter.
"That boy will come to no good end," he muttered. "I don't know what we are going to do with him."
Edith watched him curiously. She wished that her father would give her the letter to read, but he did not. People were hurrying by to the station, which was but a few steps from the post-office.
"You will miss your train, Franklin," said some one, tapping him on the shoulder.
Mr. Franklin glanced at the clock in the station tower, found that he had but half a minute, and with a hasty good-by to Edith, and strict injunctions not to mention Bronson's letter at home, he ran for his train, thrusting the mysterious note into his pocket as he went.
Edith did the errands and drove home again, after a brief call upon Gertrude Morgan, who was full of curiosity about Neal's return.