Dick wrote the note. Away went his ill-favored looking messenger.
Dick turned to administer more nitre to the peddler.
"Do you expect to move on at all to-day?" Dave asked of Dick.
"It wouldn't be really wise, would it?" Dick counter-queried. "Our tent and shelter flap are pretty wet to take down and fold away in a wagon. We'd find it wet going, too. Hadn't we better stay here until to-morrow, and then break camp with our tent properly dry?"
All hands voted in favor of remaining—-except the hoboes, who weren't asked. They would remain indefinitely, anyway, if permitted, and if the food held out.
But Dick soon set them to work. One was despatched for water, the other two set to gathering wet firewood and spreading it in the sun to dry out. Nor did the trio of remaining tramps refuse to do the work required of them, though they looked reluctant enough at first.
Two more hours passed.
"I'm afraid our friend, Hustling Weary, is having a hard time to get a doctor who'll come down the road," Dick remarked to Darrin.
"Oh, the doctor will come, if Weary has found him," Dave replied.
"Doctors always come. They have to, or lose their reputations."
Half an hour later a business-like honk! was heard. Then, through the trees Dick & Co. saw an automobile halt down at the side of the road. A tall, stout man, who looked to be about sixty-five years old, but who displayed the strength and speed of a young man, leaped from the car, followed by the tramp messenger.
"Mr. Prescott?" called the big stranger.