“It strikes me this is the last round of sport before we get back to the grind,” said Jack.
“Yes,” said Frank, somewhat sadly; “we’ve had our summer’s whirl, and it’s over; but it was fun while it lasted.”
Arm in arm, they walked down through the garden. They did not take the gravel path, but kept on the grass. Their feet made no noise, and they were silent, as both were thinking of their varied adventures since starting westward on the bicycle tour.
All at once they heard voices, and stopped suddenly.
“Catch your chance, Bill. A hundred for the boy and two hundred for the man. You do not like either of them, so——”
“Like ’em! Cuss ’em, I hate ’em! I’ll do it if I git a good chance.”
“That is settled, then. You’d better get away from here, for you don’t want to be seen. Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
Frank leaped toward the bushes beyond which the voices sounded. They were thick, and he broke through with difficulty. When he reached the other side, he could hear the sound of running feet in dull retreat, but both men were gone.
Frank started in pursuit, but the ones who were running away seemed to know the turns of the garden walks better than he did, for both got away.