"And he's also a gentleman," broke in Dick. "I wish his son took after him. As for arrest—-and trouble in court—-bosh! Try it on!"
Prescott now walked coolly to where his little package lay, and found it uninjured.
"How did you happen to come along on the wagon?" Dick asked, as
Fred and Bert limped away from their Waterloo.
"One of the express company's drivers was late coming back from dinner, and there was a package that had to be delivered at once," Darrin answered. "The manager offered me ten cents to make the delivery. I am glad that I took the job. Where are you going?"
"In there," Prescott answered, pointing to the house. "I've got to deliver this book collect to a Mrs. Carhart."
"Get up on the seat and I'll drive you in there," proposed Dave.
"Though I don't believe there's any one living in the house.
All the front doors and windows are boarded up."
After five minutes of doorbell ringing Dick concluded that he would find no Mrs. Carhart there.
"I guess I understand," nodded Prescott. "Either Dodge or Ripley must have sent that 'phone message. That was their way to get me alone where they could both handle me without much danger of interference."
"It turned out finely—-for them," chuckled Dave, as both boys climbed back to the seat of the wagon. "But say, do you think they could really make any trouble for me for using the whip over them?"
"I don't know. I don't believe they'll try, anyway," Dick answered thoughtfully. "It wouldn't be very nice for Fred to have his father find out how his son spends his time and pocket money."