Jerry reached Bangor at five o’clock. There was no time to stop and see his parents, for a southward-bound train was ready.
The long journey came to an end at last. It was nearly midday when the train rolled into the Grand Central depot at Forty-second street. Jerry got out and followed the jostling crowd to the street.
Jerry stood for five minutes, not knowing which way to turn or of whom to ask information. Passersby jostled him roughly, and a policeman made a warning gesture with his club. This frightened Jerry. He was about to retreat to the shelter of the depot, when a tall, well-dressed lad, with a handsome, refined face, suddenly caught him by the arm.
“By Jove! is this really you?” he exclaimed, joyfully.
Jerry looked up.
“Tom Fordham!” he gasped.
The other laughed.
“That’s who it is. I’m glad you knew me. I recognized you right away. I’m most awfully glad to see you, Jerry. But what under the sun brought you here? Hold on; come into the station. We can talk there.”
He led the way to a comparatively quiet spot, and Jerry, nothing loath, poured out the whole story. Never was there a more surprised lad than Tom.
“I can’t get over it,” he exclaimed. “The idea of Brick getting into such a scrape. But we’ll get him out, Jerry. It’s awfully lucky that I met you. I was going up to Yonkers to see a fellow, but I’ll drop that now. You see, it’s holiday time, and college don’t keep. I thought Brick would get you fellows to go into the woods with him. He promised to write to me, but he never did it. His running away made a big sensation. At first his guardian was mad about the money, and then he got worried, and——”