“Ha! Another boy!” exclaimed Mr. Stanton, as Blake approached. “I didn’t know this was going to be visiting day, or I might have put on my other suit,” and he laughed genially. “Are you another son of Mr. Duncan?” he asked.
“No,” replied Blake. “I’m Joe’s chum. We’re in the moving picture business together. But he says his father has left, and, as he naturally feels badly, I thought I’d make some inquiries for him, so we can locate him. Do you know where Mr. Duncan went?”
“No—I can’t say that I do,” was the slow answer. “And so you are chums; eh?”
“Yes, and we have been for some years.”
“That’s nice. You tell each other all your secrets, I suppose?”
“Well, most of ’em.”
“Never hold anything back?”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Blake, for there seemed to be a strange meaning in the old man’s voice.
“I mean, lad,” and the lighthouse keeper’s tones sank to a whisper; “I mean, if I tell you something, can you keep it from him?”
“Why—yes—I suppose so,” spoke Blake, wonderingly. “But what is the matter? Isn’t his father here?”