"Time enough," muttered the boy, as he reached the street. "A brisk jog homeward is just the thing before pulling off clothes and dropping in between the sheets."
As Dick jogged along he remembered having noticed, on the way to the office, Tip Scammon in a new suit of clothes.
"Tip's stock is coming up in the world," thought young Prescott. "But I wonder whether Tip earned that suit or stole it, or whether he has just succeeded in threatening more money out of Ripley. How foolish Fred is to stand for blackmail! I wonder if I ought to speak to him about it, or give his father a hint. I hate to be meddlesome. And, by ginger! Now I think of it, Tip looked rather curiously at me. He—-oh!—-murder!"
The last exclamation was wrung from Dick Prescott by a most amazing happening.
He was passing a building in the course of erection. It stood flush with the sidewalk, and the contractor had laid down a board walk over the sidewalk, and had covered it with a roofed staging.
Just as Dick passed under this, still on a lope, a long pole was thrust quickly out from the blackness inside the building. Between Dick's moving legs went the pole.
Bump! Down came Dick, on both hands and one knee. Then he rolled over sideways.
Away back in the building the young pitcher heard fast-moving feet.
In a flash Dick tried to get up. It took him more time than he had expected. He clutched at one of the upright beams for support.
Half a dozen people had seen the fall. Stopping curiously, they soon turned, hurrying toward Prescott.