"Not so bad, Songbird," was Sam's comment. "That's right—keep it up and maybe you'll feel better." But that was the only verse to be gotten out of the would-be poet for the present.
Arriving at Ashton, they went immediately to the photographer's shop and told him what was wanted, and he agreed to re-photograph the picture of Crowden and then enlarge the same and make as many copies as Songbird desired.
"I'll do it this afternoon," said Mr. Clinger, "and you can have a dozen or more copies by to-morrow morning. I'll make the head of the fellow about as large as a half dollar, and that ought to make a picture for any policeman or detective to go by;" and so it was arranged.
While the youths were at the photographer's an express train had come into Ashton and now quite a few people were coming away from the railroad station. As the boys walked towards the automobile, Songbird suddenly uttered a cry.
"Look, Sam! Look who's here!"
"Why, it's Tom! My brother, Tom!" exclaimed Sam, as he rushed forward. "What in the world brought him here to-day?"