“That’s the way we’re going,” objected Bob, in disappointed tones.
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him!” exclaimed Jerry. “He’s probably going out to see if he can pick up any more hens. We’ll mind our own affairs, and he can mind his.”
However there was nothing to do but proceed with the plan they had made. Whether it would succeed or not was a question, and there was also a question as to what to do in case they should discover the right crooked-nosed man. But, being youths of good spirits, the boys did not worry much about this end of the affair.
Down the pleasant country road they marched, in the early twilight. It would not be dark for a while yet, and they expected to make good use of their time. Their first “objective,” as Bob said, would be the road down which the crooked-nosed man had driven.
This place was soon reached, but it proved to be a lonely stretch of highway. At least no house was in sight, and there appeared to be no residents of whom information could be asked.
“But there may be a house just around the turn of the road,” suggested Bob hopefully. “Let’s hike on.”
So go on they did, and they were rewarded by seeing, as they made the turn in the highway, a farmhouse about a quarter of a mile beyond.
“Maybe he lives there, or works there,” suggested Bob.
“What gets me, though, Chunky,” said Jerry, “is what he would be doing down here.”
“Nothing strange in it,” said the stout lad. “He may be a sort of tramp farmer, and they go all over, the same as the umbrella men, or the wash-boiler fixers. Come on!”
They hurried forward, eager for what lay ahead of them, and if they had not been so eager they might have been aware of a figure which had cut across lots and was sneaking along behind them. And the figure was that of Pug Kennedy.
“I wonder what their game is?” Pug muttered to himself. “If they are spying on me, it won’t be healthy for them. I’ll see what they’re up to, and maybe I can put a spoke in their wheel.”
Reaching the house, Ned, Bob and Jerry saw, sitting out in front, evidently resting after his day’s labors, a bronzed farmer. He looked at the boys with interest, and inquired:
“No, we came to see you,” answered Jerry.
“To see me? Well, I’m sure I’m glad to see any of Uncle Sam’s boys. Used to be one myself, but that’s long ago. Come in and set.”