“Yes,” answered Larkspur, and his brow darkened.
“Pretty bad trouble, too, wasn’t it?”
“Bad enough,” growled Koswell. “Are you a friend to the Rovers?” he added, suspiciously.
“Oh, no, I don’t know them. But I heard of the trouble.”
“It was the Rovers’ fault,” said Jerry Koswell, sourly. “They put it off on us, but they were to blame. We might have gone back to Brill, but we didn’t think it was worth while; did we, Bart?”
“No, we had enough of the grind as it was,” answered Larkspur, glibly.
“Great Scott! just listen to that!” whispered Tom to his brothers. They were behind some nearby bushes and could catch every word that was spoken.
“Hush! or they may hear you,” was the warning, from Dick.
“Didn’t you once get a letter or two from a party named Tad Sobber?” went on the fellow who called himself John Smith.
“I did!” cried Jerry Koswell. “Then you know Sobber?”