“Well, we’ll find out, anyhow.” The agent flicked a time-table to him, ran a finger down a column, glanced at the clock and then began jabbing the telegraph key. “I’ll get Tiverton to give him the message,” he explained as he waited a reply. “Fourteen gets there in seven minutes if she’s on time. Here we are!” The sounder in its little box ticked rapidly and stopped and the agent busied himself again with the key. Joe, who had seated himself in a chair, watched and waited. Presently the agent’s hand left the key and he faced around again. “Twelve minutes late, he says. I’ve asked Harris to answer from Mittenton. We ought to get a reply in about twenty-five minutes.” “Is Tiverton beyond Upper Newton?” inquired Joe. “Yes, about six miles. Harris will know if your man got off there, because there wouldn’t be more than two or three for a small station like that. If he didn’t he’d have to buy to some place further along and Harris would remember making out his check.” “I see. What did you say to that agent?” “I said, ‘Harris, Conductor Number 14. Did slick guy about twenty-two old leave train at Upper Newton? If not, what’s his destination? Important. Reply from Mittenton. CHASE, Agent, Amesville.’” “Thanks,” said Joe. “Then we’d ought to get an answer about twenty minutes past seven. What time does that train go? Seven-thirty?” “Thirty-six. Mittenton will shoot that right back. So you’ll have plenty of time to get Number 49 if you want it.” “Fostoria is the first big town, isn’t it?” “Yep. He might be stopping off there. Anyway, he asked for Fostoria first. That might be his home. I guess, though, he wouldn’t be fool enough to go home. He’d know folks would look for him there right away.” “How much is the fare to Fostoria, please?” “One-twenty-four.” “And how much is it to that other place where you said he might change?” “Fremont? Fremont’s a dollar and forty-five.” Joe looked thoughtful. He had, as he knew, only something like a dollar and eighty cents in his pocket, which would come very far from being sufficient. If he went back to the house he might borrow enough from Aunt Sarah and he might not. Aunt Sarah seldom kept more than a dollar or two on hand, and it would be folly to start out for Fremont or Sandusky with less than six or seven dollars in his pocket. He tried to think of some other place to get the money. There was Mr. Strobe, but Joe had a dim idea that Jack had said something about his father going to Chicago the day before. Perhaps the agent would know whether Mr. Strobe was out of town. He looked across to find that person viewing him smilingly. “Not enough, eh?” he asked. Joe grinned and shook his head. “Not nearly enough. I guess I ought to have six or seven dollars. Do you know whether Mr. Strobe’s in town?” “I know he left for the West yesterday morning. Whether he’s back or not I can’t say. He carries mileage, so I don’t know where he started for. Is he a friend of yours?”