“The men who robbed you of your boat also got your money, did they?” and Rube went into another paroxysm of laughter.
“I don’t see anything funny about the situation,” frowned Case. “Here we are, half naked in the street, with Paul Stegman, who may be dying for want of medical attention, away on the river, no one knows where. I call it rotten!”
“I ask your pardon, young feller,” came the quick answer, “but there’s no harm in a laugh where no harm is intended. Now, what was it this freckle-faced kid said about money?”
“Oh, yes, money! I didn’t know as there was any left in the world. Have you really got some?”
And the boy regarded Rube with a stare of disbelief.
“I had good luck selling my oxen, and therefore am moderately well hooked up. How much do you want, son?”
By way of showing that he was both willing and able to supply all their present needs, Rube extracted a wad of bank notes from his pocket that would have, in the language of Alex, “choked a cow.”
“Whoop-ee!” shouted that young man. “Lead me to the fodder! Lead me to it!”
“First,” began Clay, “tell us whether we can send a message from this place. We’ve got to catch the Rambler, you know.”
The man took a ponderous silver watch from his pocket and consulted it before replying.