The boys slept soundly that night. They awoke in the morning to find a heavy snow storm in progress. They spent the day going from one place to another, following the advice they got at the office of the chief of police. But all to no purpose. There was no trace of Ned. They were out almost all day in the storm, which continued to get worse as night approached. "There's one thing we forgot," said Frank, as they prepared to go back to the hotel for the night. "What?" asked Fenn. "We should have let Mr. Wilding know where we are stopping. You know he said he was coming to New York. We must send him a wire. If he has left Darewell, the bank will know his address here, and forward it to us." This plan, Frank's chums decided, was a wise one. They turned toward a telegraph office which they had noticed near their hotel. As they were going down a dark side street Bart, who was in advance, stumbled over something and fell into a snow drift. "Hurt yourself?" asked Frank. "No. It was like falling into a feather bed, only it's cold." Just then something like a groan sounded from the object Bart had stumbled over. "What's that?" asked Fenn. The three boys bent over the object. "It's a boy!" cried Frank. "He's almost frozen to death. Come on, fellows! We must carry him to some shelter." "Better take him to our hotel," suggested Bart. They picked up the boy, who was lying in a drift of snow on the sidewalk, and hurried on with him. Feeble moans came from between the unknown's white lips. CHAPTER XXIII NED'S PREDICAMENT When Ned awakened Thursday morning in the lodging house and, on looking from the window saw that it was snowing, his unpleasant position came forcibly to him. "This is nice," he reflected as he put on his shoes. "It's as cold as Greenland out of doors, and I'm down to--let's see what my cash capital is, anyhow." He fumbled in the change pocket of his overcoat, and found a few coins. "Thirty cents," he murmured as he looked at them. "There's enough for three five-cent meals, and enough to pay for a bed to-night. I'll need the bed too, if this storm keeps up." He finished dressing and went to the window to look out. It was anything but a pleasant day on which to look for work. The wind had blown the snow into big drifts, and the white flakes were still falling. It was cold too, as he could tell by the draught that came in around the window. "Come now, everybody clear out!" called a voice, and one of the porters of the lodging house appeared with a pail and broom. "Got to clean up the place. Fifteen cents doesn't mean you fellers can make a hotel of this place and hang around all day. Clear out!" "Can't we stay until it stops snowin'?" asked one of the men, who were crowded around the big stove in the sleeping room.