“It does look as if he might be your father,” said Augustus Greggs.  “Maybe you’re the child that was away from home at the time his other children and his wife died.”

“Do you think anybody else in this village would know anything more about this William Bodley?”

“No, I don’t.  But it won’t do any harm to ask around.  That stage driver knows all the old inhabitants.  Perhaps some of them can tell you something worth while.”

Upon urgent invitation, Joe took dinner at the Greggs’ farm and then set out to visit a number of folks who had lived in Millville and vicinity for many years.  All remembered William A. Bodley and his family, but not one could tell what had become of the man after he had sold out and gone away.

“Maybe you had better advertise for him,” suggested one man.

“It will cost a good deal to advertise all over the United States,” replied Joe; “and for all I know he may be dead or out of the country.”

Joe remained in Millville two days and then took the train back to the East.  Ned was the first to greet him on his return to Riverside.

“What luck?” he asked, anxiously.

“None whatever,” was the sober answer.

“Oh, Joe, that’s too bad!”

“I am afraid I am stumped, Ned.”

They walked to the Talmadge mansion, and that evening talked the matter over with Ned’s father.

“I will arrange to have an advertisement inserted in a leading paper of each of our big cities,” said Mr. Talmadge.  “That will cost something, but not a fortune.”

“You must let me pay for it,” said our hero.

“No, Joe, you can put this down to Ned’s credit—­you two are such good chums,” and Mr. Talmadge smiled quietly.

The advertisements were sent out the following day, through an advertising agent, and all waited for over two weeks for some reply, but none came.

“It’s no use,” said Joe, and it must be admitted that he was much downcast.

In the meantime he had seen Andrew Mallison and the hotel man said he would willingly hire him for the summer as soon as the season opened, and also give Frank Randolph a situation.

“You had better be my guest until that time,” said Ned to our hero, when he heard of this.

“Thank you, Ned, but I don’t wish to remain idle so long.”

The very next mail after this talk brought news for our hero.  A letter came from Maurice Vane, asking him if he wished to go to Montana.

“I am now certain that that mine is valuable,” wrote the gentleman.  “I am going to start West next Monday.  If you wish to go with me I will pay your fare and allow you a salary of ten dollars per week to start on.  I think later on, I will have a good opening for you.”

“That settles it, I am going West!” cried Joe, as he showed the letter to his chum.

“Well, I don’t blame you,” was the reply.  “I know just how nice it is out there.  You’ll be sure to get along.”