By this time Benjamin Bolton had established himself in the favor of his employer, who at the end of three months made a new and much more advantageous arrangement. Bolton had not yet taken any steps in Ernest's case, but he now felt that the time had come to do so. He wrote to the postmaster at Oak Forks, inquiring if he knew a boy named Ernest Ray, but learned in reply that Ernest had left the place some months before, and had not since been heard from. CHAPTER XXXIII ANSWERING THE ADVERTISEMENT The advertisement for Ernest in a St. Louis daily paper came about in this way. Bolton was in the habit of inquiring from time to time of Western clients if they were acquainted with any persons bearing the name Ray. One gentleman, who frequently visited St. Louis, answered, "Yes, I know a boy named Ray." "Tell me all you know about him," said Bolton eagerly. "I was staying at the Southern Hotel last winter," answered Mr. Windham, "when my attention was called to a bright-looking newsboy who sold the evening papers outside. I was so attracted by him that I inquired his name. He said it was Ray, and that he was alone in the world." "What was his first name?" "I can't recall. I am not sure that I heard it." "Was it Ernest?" "I cannot speak with any certainty." "How old did the boy appear to be?" "About sixteen." "That would have been the age of Dudley Ray's son," said Bolton to himself. "I suppose you didn't learn where the boy lived?" "No." This was all the information Mr. Windham was able to impart, but Bolton felt that it was possibly of importance. It was the first clue he had been able to obtain. That Dudley Ray's son should be forced by dire necessity to sell newspapers was not improbable. Bolton therefore inserted the advertisement already mentioned. A few days later he received two letters post-marked St. Louis. He opened them with a thrill of excitement. He felt that he was on the verge of making an important discovery. One letter was addressed in a schoolboy hand, and ran thus: Dear Sir: I saw your advertisement in one of the morning papers. I hope it means me. My name is not Ernest, but it may have been changed by some people with whom I lived in Nebraska. I am sixteen years old, and I am obliged to earn my living selling papers. My father died when I was a baby, and my mother three years later. I am alone in the world, and am having a hard time. I suppose you wouldn't advertise for me unless you had some good news for me. You may send your answer to this letter to the Southern Hotel. The clerk is a friend of mine, and he says he will save it for me. Yours respectfully, Arthur Ray.