“That’s it,” spoke up another of the tramps. “It’s a downright insult to honest men like us.”
“Thet’s wot it is,” came from the third tramp. “Boys, yer ought to ’polergize.”
“I want you to let us go,” went on Joe.
“Right away,” put in Harry. “If you don’t——”
“If we don’t,—what?” demanded the tramp who stood guard with the club.
“It may be the worse for you, that’s all.”
At this all three of the tramps set up a low laugh. Then the fellow at the doorway called one of the others to his side and whispered something in his ear.
“Dat’s all right, Noxy; but I don’t care to go until I see wot we strike,” answered the man addressed.
“Oh, you’ll get your fair share, Stump,” was the answer, but Stump refused to leave even when urged a second time.
“Say, just you tell us wot time it is,” put in the other tramp, who went by the name of Muley. He had noticed that Joe carried a watch—a silver affair, given to him by his father on his last birthday.