The Rover Boys in New York Part 17

CHAPTER X

STARTLING NEWS

Sam and Tom watched with interest while d.i.c.k tore open the envelope and took out the letter it contained. The oldest Rover boy scanned the communication hastily.

"What is it?" questioned both of his brothers, impatiently.

"It's from Uncle Randolph," replied d.i.c.k. "He says father went to New York several days ago."

"Is that all?"

"No, he adds that he sent father a telegram and so far no answer has come back," went on d.i.c.k, seriously. "He thinks something has happened to dad."

"Oh, d.i.c.k," cried Sam. "What could happen to him?"

"A great many things, Sam--in a big city like New York. He might get run down by a street car, or an automobile, or be hurt in the subway, or on the elevated railroad. He wasn't very well, remember."

"Yes, I know that. Is that all?"

"Uncle Randolph wants to know at once whether we have heard from dad during the past three days."

"We haven't had a word," broke in Tom "I thought it kind of strange, too."

The other boys read the letter, and then the three talked the matter over. They were interrupted by a knock on the door, and Stanley appeared.

"Going to the spread, aren't you?" he questioned. "Hurry up--it's getting late."

"I don't think I can go," answered d.i.c.k. "I've got something I must attend to--this letter from my uncle," and he held the communication up. "Sam and Tom can go."

"I don't feel much like it--now," murmured Sam.

"Neither do I," added Tom.

"Oh, you might as well go," urged d.i.c.k. "I'll attend to the message to Uncle Randolph. Everything may be all right--and there is no use of the three of us disappointing Bob. You go, and explain why I didn't come."

"Maybe you can come later," suggested Stanley.

"I'll see. But I must get word to my uncle first," answered d.i.c.k.

While Sam and Tom got ready to attend the spread Bob Grimes was to give, d.i.c.k hurried downstairs again. In the hallway he ran into Paul Orben, one of the older students whom he knew real well.

"Why in such a hurry, d.i.c.k?" questioned Paul, good-naturedly grabbing him by the shoulder.

"I want to get to town--to send a telegram home," answered d.i.c.k.

Then, struck by a sudden idea, he added: "Paul, is your motorcycle ready for use?"

"It is, and if you want to use it to run down to Ashton with, take it," answered the other, readily. He had once been up in the Dartaway and was glad of a chance to pay the debt he thought he owed the Rovers.

"Thanks very much, I'll use it," returned d.i.c.k.

"Come on, then, and I'll make sure that it is all right."

The two young collegians hurried to a room attached to the gymnasium, where bicycles, motorcycles, and other things were kept. Soon the motorcycle was brought out and Paul gave it a brief inspection.

"All right," he announced. "I thought it would be."

"Then I'm off," answered d.i.c.k, and pus.h.i.+ng the machine along the path towards the road, he hopped into the seat and turned on the power.

d.i.c.k had never had much experience in running a motorcycle, but he had tried one enough to know how it should be handled, and soon he was well on his way and riding at a fair rate of speed. The road was good, and he had a fine headlight, and almost before he knew it he had reached Ashton and was approaching the depot.

He had been afraid the ticket and telegraph office would be closed, but he found the man inside, making up a report.

"I want to rush a message home," he said. "And I want to arrange to have it telephoned to our house. I will pay the bill, whatever it is."

"It will depend on whether we can get the operator at Oak Run," said the man. "He may have locked up for the night."

The message was written out, and d.i.c.k waited in the depot for an answer. Quarter of an hour pa.s.sed slowly and then the telegraph operator came to him.

"Sorry, Mr. Rover, but Oak Run doesn't answer. I guess the office is closed for the night."

"Try for Spotstown," said d.i.c.k, naming another railroad station several miles further from his home.

Again came a wait.

"Same story--can't get Spotstown, either," said the operator.

"Well, I've got to get somebody, somehow," murmured the oldest Rover boy. "I guess you can get New York City, can't you?" he asked, with a faint smile.

"Of course."

"Then I'll write another message."

d.i.c.k knew that when his father was in the habit of going to the metropolis he usually stopped at a large place on Broadway, which I shall call the Outlook Hotel. He accordingly addressed a message to the manager of that hotel, as follows:

"Is Anderson Rover at your hotel? If so, have him telegraph me; otherwise send me word at once."

"Now I guess I'll hear something," thought d.i.c.k, as he turned in this telegram and paid for having it transmitted. "Send it Rush, please,"

he told the operator.

Again there was a wait--this time of nearly half an hour. At last the instrument commenced to click in the telegraph office, and d.i.c.k waited anxiously while the man took the message down.

"Is it for me?" he asked. And the man nodded, as he continued to write.

When the sheet was pa.s.sed over the operator looked curiously at d.i.c.k--a look that made the youth's heart sink. With a hand that trembled in spite of his efforts to steady it, the oldest Rover boy held up the paper and read this: