“That’s rather funny, him coming back,” said Ned, after the man had gone. “Do you suppose he’s trying to steal some of your ideas, Mr. Glassford?”
“No, I don’t believe so. My greatest secret is the gas, and no one knows that but myself.”
“Sid Joffy is too lazy to steal anything,” remarked Bob. “He wouldn’t steal second or third base if he was playing on a ball nine. I guess he hasn’t anything else to do, and he comes around here to bother us.”
“I wish he’d keep away,” spoke Jerry.
He wished that more strongly than ever the next day, when the old man was again found in the tent, though how he entered the boys did not know. This time, before he could be detected, he had unscrewed some of the framework, and caused it to sag over against the bag, which it might have punctured.
“Say! This is the limit!” cried Ned. “What are you up to, anyhow, Joffy?”
“I—I just wanted to see how tight you had to have your frame. I—I didn’t mean any harm.”
“Well, you’ve done harm, all right,” said Jerry angrily. “If we catch you in here again we’ll run you down to the river and duck you.”
“That ought to keep him away,” observed Bob, when the nuisance had hurried from the tent. “He hates water. I guess he never took a bath in his life.”