The others caught the infection of hope and rose to their feet, eager to reach the metropolis as soon as possible.
They were about to resume their journey, when they heard voices near them. Looking around, two frowzy men were observed walking slowly toward them. One was munching a sandwich, while the other had a short black pipe between his teeth.
The reader may not know that the woods, on the northern bank of the Raritan, is the spot where the numerous tramps of New Jersey have their general rendezvous. Several hundred of these nuisances are sometimes gathered there, and they are held in great dread by the neighbors, for they are lazy, thievish, and lawless, and have perpetrated so many outrages that more than one descent has been made upon their camp by the authorities, while the law-abiding citizens have been on the point, at times, of taking severe measure against them.
Unsuspicious of the fact, the boys had approached close to the camp of the tramps.
The two tousled specimens caught sight of the boys at the same moment that the latter discovered them. The one munching a sandwich stopped, stared a second, and then, speaking as well as he could, with his mouth full of food, exclaimed:
“Well, I’ll be shot if this doesn’t beat the bugs!”
“Why, Snakeroot Sam!” called the delighted Tommy Wagstaff, “if this isn’t the luckiest thing that could happen!”
“Where did you come from?” asked that worthy, swallowing what was in his mouth, and indulging in a grin which disclosed a double row of large black teeth. His companion pulled his pipe and looked on in silence.
“Why, didn’t I tell you we was going to start for the West about this time?” asked the happy leader of the little party.
“So you did; I jotted it down in my notebook, but seein’ as how you didn’t give me the percise date, I couldn’t be on hand to wish you good-bye; but what are you doin’ here?”