He gave a low whistle, then emerged from the bushes into the lane. His companions followed. In a short time they were joined by Joe and the other boys.
All were deeply puzzled by the remarkable change that had come over the Polucca place.
“This beats anything I ever heard of,” declared Joe. “It looks as if some farmer has taken the place, but it’s queer we hadn’t heard of it. Everybody in Bayport would be talking about it if they knew some one had nerve enough to take over the Polucca farm.”
“I’m not satisfied yet,” Frank said. “We’ll go up and question these people.”
Accordingly, the six boys walked boldly out of the lane and across the yard. The man in the woodshed saw them first and put down his axe, staring at them with an expression of annoyance on his face. The woman at the clothesline heard their footsteps and turned, facing them, her hands upon her hips. She was hard-faced and tight-lipped, with gaunt features. She was not prepossessing and her untidy garb did not impress the boys favorably.
“What do you want?” demanded the man, emerging from the woodshed.
He was short and thin with close-cropped hair, and he was in need of a shave. His complexion was swarthy and he had narrow eyes under coarse, black brows. His manner was far from polite as he advanced upon the boys.
At the same time another man came out of the kitchen and stood on the steps. He was stout and red-haired and had a thick mustache. As he stood there in his shirt-sleeves he glared pugnaciously at the sextette.
“Yeah, what’s the big idea?” he asked.
“We didn’t know any one was living here,” explained Frank, edging over to the kitchen door. He wanted to get a look inside the house if possible.