“Only a boy on a bike, but he’s whooping it up rather fast,” Frank admitted, as he turned his head to look.
“Say, I know that feller, all right,” Lanky declared, as the boy on the wheel rapidly drew nearer to where they stood on the narrow road.
“Seems to me there’s something familiar about him, too,” said Frank. “His name is Rufus, isn’t it, Lanky?”
“Right the first guess—Rufus Kline.”
“Wasn’t that the name of one of Bill Klemm’s cronies—Watkins Kline?” continued Frank, still observing the approaching boy on the wheel.
“Yep; and they say his mother is nigh crazy because nobody’s seen a sign of any of that crowd since they skipped out, after the schoolhouse fire,” Lanky went on to say.
“Looks like Rufus must have been sent on an errand this fine Sunday afternoon,” Frank next remarked; “because I notice that he’s got something of a bundle tied to the handle-bars of his wheel. It’s clumsy enough to make him wobble more than a little as he rides, too.”
“Huh! that surprises me some, too,” Lanky remarked, as he stood there, watching the boy, who was now rapidly drawing nearer to them, and appeared to be wondering whether the two meant to stand aside and let him pass, or hold him up; in fact his actions seemed to indicate that Rufus was bothered not a little.
“Why should it?” demanded Frank, always ready to learn facts when he could.
“You see,” his chum hastily replied, “Mrs. Kline is a very religious woman, which makes it all the more queer why she lets her boy go with such fellers as Bill Klemm and Asa Barnes. Now, I never’d ’a’ believed she’d sent Rufus on an errand, and carryin’ a package like that, on a Sunday.”