Frank Hardy came up the short garden path whistling merrily to himself. He was a tall, good-natured looking boy of sixteen, with dark eyes and dark, curly hair.

“One more week of school and then hurrah for a long vacation in the country!” he murmured to himself as he mounted the piazza steps. “Oh, but won’t we have a dandy time swimming and fishing when we get to Cloverdale!”

His little dog Frisky was at the door to greet him with short, sharp barks of pleasure. Frank caught the animal up and began to coddle him.

“Glad to see me, eh?” he cried. “Frisky, won’t you be glad when we get to the country and you can roam all over the fields?”

For answer the dog barked again and wagged his tail vigorously. Still holding the animal, Frank entered the dining room and passed into the kitchen, where his mother was assisting the servant in the preparation of the evening meal.

“Mother, is father back from Philadelphia yet?” he asked, as he hung up his cap and slipped into the sink pantry to wash his hands.

“Not yet, Frank,” answered Mrs. Hardy.

“He must have quite some business to attend to, to stay away so late. I thought I was late myself.”

“You are late, Frank—it is quarter after six. I expected your father in on the half-past five train, but he must have missed that.”

“Then he won’t be here until nearly eight o’clock. Must I wait for my supper?”

“No; we can have our supper directly. I know you must be hungry.”

“I am, mother. Baseball gives a fellow an appetite, especially if he runs bases and plays in the field, as I did. We played the Hopeville Stars and beat them 12 to 7. I made three runs.”

“You must certainly love the game?”

“I do. Sometimes I wish I could be a professional ball player.”

“I shouldn’t wish you to be that, Frank. I want you to go to college and be a professional man,” added Mrs. Hardy, with a fond smile.

“Oh, I was only talking, mother. But some professional ball players are college men.”

Frank entered the dining room and sat down to the table. He was soon joined by his little brother, Georgie, and his sister, Ruth, who was twelve years of age.

“How do you get along with your lessons?” he asked of Ruth, who had been practicing on the piano in the parlor.

“I think I am doing real well,” returned the sister, who was very fair, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. “Professor Hartman says I will make a good player if I do plenty of practicing. And, oh, I love it so!” added the girl, enthusiastically.

“The one who loves it is the one who is bound to make a good player,” said Frank. “Now, there is Dan Dixon. His folks want him to learn to play the violin, and he takes lessons. But he doesn’t like it at all, and I am sure he will never make a player.”

“That is true in all things,” came from Mrs. Hardy, as she sat down to pour the tea. “If one wants to do well at anything, one’s heart must be in the work. I once knew a girl whose family wanted her to learn how to paint. She hadn’t any talent for it, and though she took lessons for two years she never drew or painted anything really worth showing.”

“I know what I like real well,” came from little Georgie. “I’m going to keep a candy store when I grow up. I like that real well.”

“Good for you, Georgie!” laughed Frank. “Only don’t eat up all the stock yourself.”

“Will you buy from me when I keep the store?” continued the little fellow.

“To be sure, I will—or, maybe, I’ll be a salesman for you—and Ruth can be the cashier.”

“What’s a cashier?”

“The one who takes in the money.”

“No, I want to take in the money myself,” came from Georgie, promptly.

Thus the talking went on, and while it is in progress and the family are waiting for the return of Mr. Hardy from his business trip, let me take the opportunity of introducing them more specifically than I have already done.

The Hardy family were six in number, Mr. Thomas Hardy and his wife; Mark, who was three years older than Frank, and the children already introduced.

Mr. Hardy was a flour and feed dealer, and at one time had had the principal store in that line in Claster, the town in which the family resided. He had made considerable money, and the family were counted well to do. But during the past two years two rivals with capital had come into the field, and trade with the flour and feed merchant had consequently fallen off greatly.

Mr. Hardy had expected to send his oldest son, Mark, to college, but the youth had begged to be allowed to take an ocean trip, and had at last been allowed to ship on a voyage to South America. He was to return home in seven or eight months, but during the past three months nothing had been heard of him.

Frank, Ruth, and little Georgie all attended the same school in Claster, Georgie being in the kindergarten, and Ruth in one of the grammar grades. Frank was in the graduating class, and after a vacation in the country, expected to prepare himself for high school. He was just now deep in his final examinations at the grammar school, and so far had done well, much to his parents’ satisfaction.

“Mother, what took father to Philadelphia?” asked Frank, after a spell of silence, during which he had devoted himself to the viands set before him.

At this question a shade of anxiety crossed Mrs. Hardy’s face.

“He went on very important business, Frank. I cannot explain to you exactly what it was. He was to see Mr. Garrison, the man he used to buy flour from.”

“Jabez Garrison?”

“Yes.”

“I never liked that man, mother; did you?”

“I really can’t say, Frank—I never had much to do with him.”

“I saw him at the store several times—doing business with father. He somehow put me in mind of a snake.”

“Oh, Frank!” burst in Ruth.

“A man don’t look like a snake,” was little Georgie’s sober comment.

“That is not a very complimentary thing to say, Frank,” said Mrs. Hardy, somewhat severely.

“I can’t help it, mother. He has such an oily, smooth manner about him.”

“Your father has spoken of him as a very good friend in business. I believe he gave your father prices which were better than he could get elsewhere.”

“Well, he didn’t look it. If I were father, I’d keep my eyes on him.”

“He went to Philadelphia to make inquiries about Mr. Garrison. I cannot tell you more than that just now.”

“Didn’t father loan him some money?”

“Not exactly that; but he went his security when Mr. Garrison was made treasurer of a certain benevolent order in Philadelphia.”

“How much security?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

“That’s a big sum of money.”

“Yes, Frank—but I was told that it was more a matter of form than anything else.”

“I don’t see it, mother. If Jabez Garrison had a lot of money to handle, he could steal it if he wanted to.”

“Frank, you are certainly not in love with Mr. Garrison. Did he ever say anything to you?”

“Not a word. Only I don’t like his looks, that’s all.”

Further talk on this subject was cut off by Ruth, who chanced to look out of the bay window of the dining room.

“There goes the hospital ambulance,” she cried. “Somebody must be hurt.”

Frank, filled with curiosity, leaped up and ran to the front door, and then down to the gate.

“What’s the trouble?” he asked of a boy who was running past.

“Big accident on the railroad, down at Barber’s Cut,” answered the boy. “Freight train ran into the Philadelphia local, and about a dozen passengers have been killed or hurt.”

“The Philadelphia local!” echoed Frank, and for the moment his heart almost stopped beating. “Can father have been on that train?”

He ran back into the house and told his mother the news. Mrs. Hardy was almost prostrated, but quickly recovered.

“I will go down and see if your father is in that wreck,” she said. “Frank, you can go along.” And a moment later they set out for the scene of the disaster.