tly comforted. "Still, Dad will
rag me, just the same. See if he doesn't!"

Locking the door and pausing to gain courage they set out over the
lawn. Then suddenly, midway across the grass, His Highness came to a
stop.

"Mr. Burns!" he cried, wheeling round. "Why didn't I think of him
before?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Dick, astounded by his
companion's strange conduct.

"Mr. Burns!" repeated Walter. "Come along. Can't one of the chauffeurs
take us down there?"

"For mercy's sake who is Mr. Burns, and why do you want to go and see
him hot off the bat?"

"Mr. Burns, the telegraph operator," Walter contrived to stammer. "He
must know Morse International. He has to know both the Morse American
which telegraph operators use on land, and the other code, I'm pretty
sure."

"But maybe what we've got down doesn't make sense," objected Dick.
"You've a husky nerve to go toting that scrawl of ours to a
professional."

"I don't care," grinned Walter. "I'm not afraid of Mr. Burns. He's
driven me out of the station too many times when I was a kid. I will
own, however, that I have more respect for him since I've learned what
it means to run a telegraph."

"He may drive you out of the station this time," Dick ventured with a
grimace.

"I'll bet he won't," was the sanguine response. "We've made it up
since then. I've even helped old Burnsie shovel his snow now and then.
He'll do a good turn for me, I'll bet."

"Come on then, if you are so sure of it," Dick answered, striding
toward the garage.

"You're sure your father won't mind our taking the car?"

"He doesn't want it this morning. He is going to hang round and see if
Bob calls him from New York. Besides, he said it was too hot to motor.
Will Burns be at the station now?"

"He will if a train is due," announced Walter. "If the office is
locked we can chase him to his house."

"All right! This is your party, remember," Dick said a trifle
wickedly. It was evident he had no faith in the expedition.
Notwithstanding his skepticisms, however, he ordered out the car and
he and Walter sped away on their errand.

"It is time for a train," announced Walter in an undertone, as they
neared the station. "See, there are people waiting. It is the noon
train from Boston."

"Burns will be too busy then to bother his head over fake messages, I
guess," sniffed Dick.

"Maybe not. At least we can try him," was His Highness's optimistic
assertion. "Hi, Mr. Bu