Part 28 (2/2)

”I do see,” said Frank, ”and it's a grand idea, mother.”

After supper Mrs. Ismond went upstairs to make up a little parcel of collars, handkerchiefs and the like for her son's journey.

Frank looked up from the county map from which he was formulating a route, as his mother reappeared. At a glance he saw that she was very much agitated.

”Oh, Frank!” she panted, sinking into a chair pale and distressed-looking.

”Why, what's the matter, mother?” exclaimed Frank, arising quickly to his feet.

Mrs. Ismond had a worn yellow sheet of paper in her hand.

”Markham,” she said, in a sad, pained way. ”I was getting out some neckties for you, and by mistake opened the bureau drawer where he kept his belongings. I found this.”

”What is it, mother?” asked Frank, taking the paper from her hand. He saw for himself, and his face turned quite as white and troubled as her own.

”Too bad--too bad,” said Frank, looking down at the time-worn sheet of paper in a disheartened way.

CHAPTER XXI

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

It was a depressing discovery that Mrs. Ismond had made. Frank sat staring at the paper in his hand in silence for some minutes.

This was a printed sheet. It was headed: ”Reward--One Hundred Dollars.” In short, the warden of the Juvenile Reformatory at Linwood, offered that amount for the return to that inst.i.tution of an escaped inmate--Richard Markham Welmore.

”Yes, it is our Markham,” murmured Frank--”that is his middle name. The description answers him exactly,” and again Frank said in a troubled way: ”Too bad--too bad.”

Frank knew what his mother was thinking of--that they had harbored a convicted criminal, who had weakly yielded to temptation, beggaring them, and going back to his old evil ways.

He now knew what Dale Wacker meant when he spoke of the inventor of the wire puzzle as being in a ”snug, tight place.” Markham had sought relief from his irksome confinement getting up the pleasant little novelty that had taken so well. Evidently Wacker, when he first called on Frank, was not aware of the fact that Markham had escaped.

Wacker had probably once himself been an inmate of the reformatory. He knew its rules and routine. Coming across Markham on his way to Haven Bros., what more natural, Frank reasoned, than that he should take advantage of this knowledge? His recognition by Wacker would crush Markham. Had Wacker terrified him so that he had led him to some quiet spot, bargained with him, robbed him, sent him back to the reformatory, and laid claim to the reward?

”I am going to find out,” cried Frank, starting for his cap, but instantly quieting down again as he reflected farther.

His impulse was to hurry downtown and telegraph the reformatory at Linwood for information. Suddenly, however, he reflected that if his surmises were wrong, and things turned out differently than he theorized, he would simply be putting the authorities on the track of the unfortunate Markham.

”Mother,” he said, ”nothing will make me believe that Markham voluntarily stole my money. No, this Dale Wacker had a hand in this disappearance.

Perhaps poor Markham met him and fled, and is in hiding. We may hear from him yet.”

”But, Frank,” suggested Mrs. Ismond in a broken tone of voice, ”we are sure now that Markham was a--a bad boy.”

”Why so?” asked Frank.

”He was the inmate of a reformatory.”

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