“What else was the fellow trying to send?”
“It was gibberish to me. Oh, we’ll have to pass it up, Ben, just as Mr. Edson said.”
“Yes,” assented Ben, “it’s some novice or joker or crank experimenting, or trying to be smart. What’s the matter?” challenged Ben, turning now upon the boy calling himself Harry Ashley, hoping for some explanation of his queer startled actions of a few minutes previous.
But whatever the refugee had on his mind he evidently was not disposed to impart it to his questioner.
Harry Ashley had somewhat recovered his composure. He still looked disturbed, but he said with assumed carelessness:
“Oh, nothing. I get a pretty sharp twinge in my lame foot every once in a while.”
“I see,” observed Ben, drily and unbelievingly.
The boys were soon on the ground and on their way towards the village. Tom kept up a casual conversation. He did not ask the strange waif who had drifted into their keeping any leading questions, however. Much as he was interested in knowing more about Harry Ashley, there was something in the lad’s manner that repelled curiosity. Furthermore, Tom did not wish to embarrass a comrade he had invited to become his guest.
Ben was quite silent. He stole many a furtive look at Harry as they proceeded on their way. He was half satisfied with the lame explanation of his actions the boy had made in the wireless tower. He forged ahead a few yards with Tom as they came to the road leading south towards his home.
“I say, Tom,” he remarked in a low tone, “there’s some mystery about that fellow.”