"Yes. Found it in his father's pocket," nodded the coroner, with
all the tantalizing brevity of a man who knows he has a choice
morsel of information that is eagerly awaited. "It's addressed to
'My boy David,' so I calculated we'd better give it to him first
without reading it, seeing it's his. After he reads it, though, I
want to see it. I want to see if what it says is any nearer being
horse-sense than the other one is."

"The other one!" exclaimed the amazed chorus again.

"Oh, yes, there's another one," spoke up William Streeter
tersely. "And I've read it-- all but the scrawl at the end. There
couldn't anybody read that!" Higgins laughed.

"Well, I'm free to confess 't is a sticker--that name," he
admitted." And it's the name we want, of course, to tell us who
they are--since it seems the boy don't know, from what you said
last night. I was in hopes, by this morning, you'd have found out
more from him."

Simeon Holly shook his head.

"'T was impossible."

"Gosh! I should say 't was," cut in Perry Larson, with emphasis.
"An' queer ain't no name for it. One minute he'd be talkin' good
common sense like anybody: an' the next he'd be chatterin' of
coats made o' ice, an' birds an' squirrels an' babbling brooks.
He sure is dippy! Listen. He actually don't seem ter know the