Sam. "Evidently they have quite some money."
"More money than brains," returned Tom, bluntly. "If their folks don't take 'em in hand, they'll both end up in prison some day."
"Koswell mentioned a trip up the coast," said Dick. "They must be going up to Portland and Casco Bay, or further."
"I'd like to go to Casco Bay myself," said Sam. "It's a beautiful spot, with its islands. Tom Favor was telling me all about it. He spent three summers there."
They had alighted at the corner of Varmolet street and now started to look for No. 234. They had to walk two blocks, past houses that were disreputable in the extreme.
"I don't like the look of this neighborhood," remarked Sam, as they hurried along. "I'd hate to visit it after dark."
"Think of what Mrs. Stanhope must be suffering, if they brought her to such a spot," returned Dick, and could not help shuddering.
Presently they reached No. 234, an old three-storied house, with a dingy front porch, and with solid wooden shutters, the majority of which were tightly closed. Not a soul was in sight around the place.
"Don't ring any bell," warned Sam. "If those
