and then as it was getting time to close up the office for the day, Earl and Randy left, to find some one to identify them, were such a thing possible. At the corner of the block both halted.
"I'm blessed if I know what to do," were Randy's words. "I can't think of a soul who knows us here."
"There used to be a man named Curtis Gordon who once lived at Basco—he owned the feed mill there. He came to Boston and started a flour business. But whether he would remember me is a question. He hasn't seen me in about eight years."
"We might try him—it would be better than nothing!" cried Randy, eagerly. " Let us hunt him up in the directory."
This was done, and they found Mr. Curtis Gordon's place of business after a search lasting over an hour. Several clerks were in attendance who supplied the information that Mr. Gordon had gone to New York, and would not be back for two days.
"Stumped again," murmured Randy, dismally. "Did you ever see such luck!"
"Never give up," answered Earl, as cheerfully as he could. "I wonder if Mrs. Gordon lives in town."
"What if she does?"
"I'd call on her, and perhaps she can help us out. She used to know me."
From the clerks in the store they received the Gor-
