"What brings you here?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Why, don't you know, my folks moved up to Albany from New York--father's in the State Senate now, you know," returned Frank, with pride.

"Oh, that's so--and you are a senator's son," put in Tom. "I guess we'll have to tip our hats to you after this and call you Mr. Harrington."

"Stow it, Tom, and keep your jokes until school opens,"

interrupted Frank. "Yes, we live here, and I thought you knew all about it. I sent you a letter."

"We've been away from home for several weeks," explained d.i.c.k, and told of their outing on the water.

"It must be jolly. My father owns a boat, but we seldom use it.

So you are going to stay in Albany over tomorrow? If that's the case you must come up to our house. I won't hear of your going to a hotel."

"Will that arrangement suit your folks?" questioned d.i.c.k.

"Oh, yes! The girls are all away--down to Asbury Park--and so is mother; and father and I and the servants have the whole mansion to ourselves. I can tell you, it's just a bit lonely at times, and I'm real glad you came," concluded Frank.

"If your father is a senator perhaps you can get us a pa.s.s through the Capitol building," put in Sam.

"You won't need a pa.s.s. I'll go with you. But, Sam, you look sick."

Sam's tale had to be told to Frank, who, meanwhile, led the way to a street car. Boarding this, the boys soon reached the Harrington mansion, located on one of Albany's finest thoroughfares. Here they met Senator Harrington and were speedily introduced.

"I've heard of you before," smiled the senator. He was a pleasant-looking man of forty-five. "Frank says the Rover boys were the whole school--or something like that."

At this there was a laugh. "I guess he must have been one of the Rovers, then," rejoined Tom; "he was just as good as any of us."

And then there was another laugh, and the newcomers felt perfectly at home.

There was a concert company in town, and, receiving permission from his father to do so, Frank took his friends to see the performance. The singing was very good; and, despite the fact that it was still warm weather, the concert hall was packed.

The program was a long one, and, with the numerous encores, did not come to an end until nearly eleven o'clock.

"That was immense," remarked Tom, when they were coming out. "I wish I could sing like that tenor."

"We ought to get up a quartet at the Hall," put in Frank. "I understand they had a singing club year before last."

"We're going to have a banjo club," said d.i.c.k.

"Larry Colby wrote to me about it. He has a new banjo that cost fifteen dollars, and he--"

d.i.c.k broke off short as a slouchy-looking man brushed against him. The eyes of the man and the boy met, and then the man disappeared in the crowd as if by magic.

"Well, I never!"

"What's the matter, d.i.c.k?" came from all the others.

"Didn't you see him?"

"See who?"

"Buddy Girk, the tramp thief, the fellow who used to train with Dan Baxter's father."

"What, the fellow who stole your watch and broke jail at Rootville?" came from Tom.

"The same."

"Where is he now?" questioned Sam.

"I don't know. The instant he saw me he skipped."

"I'll wager he wasn't in the crowd for any good purpose," went on d.i.c.k, as he remembered how he had suffered the loss of his timepiece at Buddy Girk's hands. d.i.c.k had had a good deal of trouble in recovering the article.

"He ought to be pointed out to the police," put in Frank. "It's not safe to have such men at large."

"I wish I could collar him and make him talk about father's affairs," grumbled Tom.

"Why, did he know anything of your father's affairs?" exclaimed Frank Harrington, in astonishment.

"I think so. You see, Arnold Baxter tried to defraud my father out of some western mining property, and this Buddy Girk was mixed up in the affair--how, I don't exactly know."

"I see. By the way, Tom, have you heard anything of your father yet?"

"Not a word," and Tom's face grew sober. "It does beat all what has become of him, doesn't it?" he added.

"I should think you would want to go and hunt him up."

"We've talked about that already, but Uncle Randolph, who is our guardian, thinks it would prove a wild-goose chase. He says the interior of Africa is a big place to hunt any man in."

"He's right there. But still I would want to hunt for him, even if I had to go into the very jungles to do it."

"We'll go some day--unless father turns up," put in d.i.c.k decidedly. "If Uncle Randolph won't go, we'll go alone. But I would like to meet this Buddy Girk," he continued, after a brief pause.

The boys had to walk to the corner of the block to get aboard of a street car, and while waiting there, somewhat in the shadow, Sam pulled d.i.c.k by the coat sleeve.

"There he goes!"

"Who?"

"Buddy Girk. See him sneaking along the buildings over there?"

and the youngest Rover pointed with his hand.

All saw the figure, and Tom at once proposed that they follow the fellow. Frank was willing, and away they went across the street and also into the gloom.

Buddy Girk was making good time past a number of business buildings which at this hour of the night were locked and barred up and practically deserted.

"I wonder if he saw us start to follow him?" whispered d.i.c.k, after several blocks had been pa.s.sed.

"I don't think so. If he had, it's more than likely that he would have legged it to get away. He--hullo, he's going into that alleyway!"