CHAPTER IX
THE SNARE
Dick’s face bore a broad grin as he entered the room. He looked dreadfully mischievous. Assuming as serious an expression as I could conjure, I said to him:
“Why, what’s the meaning of this, d**k? How do you come to be in town? Are you with Aunt Hannah?”
“It’s all right—brother-in-law,” he answered lightly. “No, I am not with Aunt Hannah, nor is Aunt Hannah with me. I have come up on my own.”
“‘On your own’? What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you, but—won’t you introduce me, Mike?”
“Easterton,” I said, “this is Roland Challoner’s boy, d**k. Jack, this is the boy I told you about who was chloroformed by the thieves at Holt.”
Jack’s eyes rested on d**k. Then he put out his hand.
“Come here, old chap,” he said in his deep voice. For several moments he held d**k’s hand
