"What is?"
"Dis mystery about youse. Say, honest, youse ain't kiddin' me, is ye?"
"Kidding you? You mean fooling you? Of course not! All I know is that I started away from some place—I can't just remember where—and the next thing I knew I was in the box."
"Well, I guess it's straight goods," admitted Jimmy, with a sigh, "but it sure is a queer go. Youse must have come from some swell joint, den."
"What makes you think so?"
"Why, yer clothes is all to de good. Ye're right in de latest style. Didn't nobody kidnap youse, did dey?"
"Not that I know of."
Dick passed his hand over his head with a bewildered air. It was close in the box, and, now that the sun was up, was getting quite warm.
"Come on; let's git outer here, an' den we kin talk better," proposed the newsboy. He peered out, and, seeing that the coast was clear, he crawled out of the box, followed by Dick.
"I guess we kin take a little scrub in me bathroom, an' den we'll git somethin' t' eat," proposed the street lad, as he led the way to the faucet over the horse-trough. Fortunately the watchman was inside the factory turning on the fires ready for the men who would soon arrive.