“Except on a similar auspicious occasion,” whispered the bachelor uncle in Pinkie’s pretty ear. She made some audaciously saucy reply without half hearing him; for her eyes were riveted upon her father, who was at the moment reading a telegram which had just been handed him by a servant. Pinkie saw that he grew white to the lips; then, recovering himself with an effort, “It’s all right,” he said; “no answer,” and tossed off his cup of coffee. “This tiresome business!” sighed Mrs. Dare; “it never lets one alone, day or night, Mr. Randolph. I’m sure I expect it will kill Mr. Dare some day; I often tell him he’ll have nervous prostration if he don’t take care.” “You need not fear, my dear madam,” returned her host grimly; “Mr. Dare has no nerves to be prostrated. He is entirely safe!” “Though it might be better for some of us,” he added some moments later, “if Dare had been smothered in his cradle.” This remark was made in the library, whither Mr. Randolph had retired for a few moments, and whither he had found means to summon his son Frank. “That’s pretty rough on my prospective father-in-law, governor,” said the young man gayly; “where would the fair Virginia have been in that case, eh?” “You’ve got to look sharp if you want to marry Virginia Dare,” said his father. “I did think a marriage between you two would—but I suppose he thinks it hasn’t come to that yet. Read this telegram from Fletcher, will you? There’s a couple of millions gone out of my pocket and yours.” “And you think Mr. Dare”— “I don’t think, I know he’s at the bottom of it. He’s got nerves of iron and a forehead of brass, that fellow! And that’s not the worst of it, Frank. This thing giving way lets me in for a number of others; it means simple ruin if it isn’t put a stop to.” Frank whistled thoughtfully. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked. “If these—people weren’t in the house, I’d be off on the next train; but it would never do to show my hand like that. There’s the midnight express, though; I shall make that, I think; and, in the mean time, I want you to wire Fletcher for me. Take it yourself to the office; and listen that it is sent correctly; for it must be in cipher, and the mistake of a letter would be fatal. I’ll make excuses for you in the parlor; what shall I say?” Frank thought for a moment. “Rumors of a riot downtown,” he said then, “and I’ve gone to look into it. He may swallow _that_.” “It may be,” replied his father, “that he and all of us will be obliged to swallow it. But there is no time to be lost.” Frank only stopped to change his evening coat for less conspicuous raiment, then hurried through the garden to a side gate that opened on what was called River Street, on which a telegraph office was situated at no great distance. Hurrying along this at the top of his speed, he suddenly ran full into the arms of a man who was running rapidly in the other direction.