The answer was evidently far from satisfactory, for, with a sharp “I’ll call you up later,” Captain Bunderley flipped the receiver back into place and stalked outside.
“Neither of ’em is at the hotel,” he exclaimed. “The clerk says they went off at different times. Victor finally came back, but left again. Says the stout boy asked for credit, but he was obliged to refuse.”
“Gee whiz!” cried Bob.
Then he promptly explained Dave’s situation, while Uncle Ralph’s brow clouded over.
“A very annoying state of affairs, indeed,” he pronounced. “But let us go in to supper, boys. Perhaps by the time we’re through some word may have arrived.”
But it hadn’t. And when Uncle Ralph called up the Kenosha hotel a second and third time the same laconic answer was always received—“No, sir; they have not yet returned.”
“Well, that settles it,” cried Bob Somers, at length. “We’ll motor right back to Kenosha and find ’em.”
“What!—On a night so black that a black cat would make a light spot in the landscape?” exclaimed Captain Bunderley, protestingly.
“Oh, that kind of thing doesn’t worry us,” broke in Tom, eagerly. “Why, when we were in Wyoming——”
“Oh, my!” groaned Charlie.