“You are going to find out what, Durham?” questioned the professor in a hollow tone.
“The best—the worst—whatever it is. Don’t give up hope. We will know a good deal more when I return than we do now. That, at least, is sure.”
There came a dash of rain against the window. Frank glanced out at the wind-swept street. Then he went to a wardrobe, and donned a heavy raincoat.
“Hold on, Durham,” spoke Mr. Strapp, worked up to a high pitch of excitement. “Isn’t there something to say before you go away?”
“Just step into the hall for a minute, Mr. Strapp,” asked Frank. Pep, with ears wide open, tried to catch some inkling of what was going on, but Frank had closed the door after himself and the Westerner. Then in about half a minute the ex-ranchman returned to the room alone. He sank into a chair with a grave face, speaking the words half aloud:
“If anybody can do it, Durham can.”
A gloom had spread over the apartment so recently filled with cheeriness. Professor Barrington sat with his face buried in one hand. Mr. Strapp got up and moved about in a fidgety way. Vic, half understanding that something of serious importance had interrupted his interview with the young leader of the motion picture chums, retired to a corner of the room, feeling uneasy and out of place. Pep came up to him.
“I say, Vic,” he observed, “I wish you’d put off this tour of the movies for to-night.”
“Why, certainly,” responded Vic. “Say, what’s the matter—some trip-up in the plans of you people?”
“Yes,” returned Pep, with a disturbed face, “and it’s taken the heart clear out of me for any junketing or fun.”