“Well, I’ve got to have more.”
“I’ll bet you’ve been gambling it away, Haddon.”
“It’s none of your business what Bud Haddon does with his money!” exclaimed the stranger, with a toss of his head and blowing a ring of tobacco smoke toward the ceiling of the shed. “If you don’t want me to start things you do as I told you to.”
“Do you know what I think!” exclaimed Brassy, after a pause. “I think those tramp cowboys were guilty.”
“You can’t put that off on no cowboys!” exclaimed Bud Haddon. “I know all about it, and so do Jillson and Dusenbury.”
“They don’t know anything—at least they don’t know anything about me!” cried Brassy. But it was plainly to be seen that he was exceedingly nervous. “Somebody’s been cooking up a story against me!”
“Ain’t nobody cookin’ up nothin’,” growled the man. “I know what I’m talkin’ about. You’d better get busy if you know when you’re well off. If you don’t, and your uncle gets wind of this—well, good-night for you!”
“Oh, don’t say anything to my uncle! Please don’t!”
“Well, then you get busy. I’ve hung around here about as long as I intend to. I’m goin’ back to Chicago in a few days.”
At this juncture the Rovers heard a noise outside, and several boys playing hide-and-seek appeared. Not wishing to be discovered by Brassy and his companion, Andy and Randy hurried out into the street and up to the corner. Here they waited for a while, and presently saw Brassy and Bud Haddon come forth. The man sauntered away in the direction of the town while Brassy sped off on the winding road leading to Colby Hall.