Dick. "It's a queer piece of business. Do you know where Uncle Randolph was going?"
"You mean in Carwell?"
"Yes."
"I think to the hotel."
"Hum," mused the eldest of the Rover boys. "Wonder if I can get him on the telephone?" For a telephone line had been put up from Oak Run to the farm.
"Why, Dick, is there anything wrong?" demanded Mrs. Rover, turning pale.
"I hope not. Aunt Martha. We'll soon know. Don't worry, please."
"Your uncle was very much disturbed when he went away."
"I am going to try to telephone to him at once," said Dick.
The telephone was on a landing of the stairs, where the bell could readily be heard upstairs and down, and Dick lost no time in taking down the receiver and calling up the office at Oak Run.
"I want to get the hotel at Carwell," he told the operator. "This is 685 W," he added.
"I cannot give you Carwell," was the answer.
"Why not?"
"The lightning struck down some of our poles and the line is out of commission."
This was dismaying news and for the moment
