"There is a telegram for you; just came," said the boy, and he handed
it over.
"More news from home," thought Richard. "But we have no telegraph
office. Wonder what it means?"
And he tore the telegram open.
It ran as follows:
"PHILADELPHIA, _June_ 28.
"RICHARD DARE:
"My son is dead. Close store until further orders.
"JONAS MARTIN."
Richard had just finished reading the dispatch when Frank came up.
"You are ahead of me," said Frank. "What have you there?"
"Word from Mr. Martin. His son is dead, and we are to close the store
until further notice."
Here was more sad news. Phil, who had known young Mr. Martin well, and
liked him, felt it the most.
"It will break old Mr. Martin all up," he said sadly. "He thought a
heap of his son. The two were alone in the world."
"I can get away easily enough now," said Richard, with a sorry little
laugh. "I won't hurry back as soon as I intended. You must write me
if anything turns up."
In less than an hour the store was closed up, a death notice pasted
on the door, and then Frank accompanied Richard down to the ferry.
On the corner of Liberty Street they met Pep, who started back in
surprise.
"I was just comin' up to see you!" he exclaimed to Richard. "My uncle
wants you to come right down!"
"Wants me to come down?" queried Richard.
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