"There's one thing we forgot," said Frank, as they prepared to go back to the hotel for the night.
"What?" asked Fenn.
"We should have let Mr. Wilding know where we are stopping. You know he said he was coming to New York. We must send him a wire. If he has left Darewell, the bank will know his address here, and forward it to us."
This plan, Frank's chums decided, was a wise one. They turned toward a telegraph office which they had noticed near their hotel. As they were going down a dark side street Bart, who was in advance, stumbled over something and fell into a snow drift.
"Hurt yourself?" asked Frank.
"No. It was like falling into a feather bed, only it's cold."
Just then something like a groan sounded from the object Bart had stumbled over.
"What's that?" asked Fenn.
The three boys bent over the object.
"It's a boy!" cried Frank. "He's almost frozen to death. Come on, fellows! We must carry him to some shelter."
"Better take him to our hotel," suggested Bart.
