“Queerer still,” Blake mused. “Even if that isn’t Mr. Duncan, he must be somewhere around, for lighthouse keepers can’t be very far away from their station, as I understand it.”
Joe came walking toward his chum. His face showed his disappointment so unmistakably that Blake called out:
“What’s the matter, Joe?”
“He’s gone—he isn’t here! He never got my letter!”
“Where has he gone?” asked Blake, always practical.
“I—I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Look here, Joe!” exclaimed his chum. “I guess you’re too excited over this. You let me make some inquiries for you. Suppose he has gone? We may be able to trace him. Men in the lighthouse service get transferred from one place to another just as soldiers do, I imagine. Now you sit down here and look at the sad sea waves, as C. C. would say if he were here, and I’ll go tackle that lighthouse keeper. You were too flustered to get any clues, I expect.”
“I guess I was,” admitted Joe. “When I found he wasn’t there I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel like asking any questions.”
Blake placed his arm around his chum’s shoulder, patted him on the back, and started toward the aged man, who was still leaning on his hoe, looking in mild surprise at the two lads.
“I’ll find out all about it,” called back Blake.