“The chief is a first-rate boss,” was the enthusiastic expression of Henri, between attacks on the provisions.
“None better,” admitted Billy, sitting back from the table, with a sigh of repletion.
“What’s the program for to-day?” queried Henri, “seeing that we are freelances for a while?”
“I’ve just been thinking that I’d like to know for sure whether or not Ricker got out of town.”
“Say, Buddy,” broke in Henri, “I don’t believe we had better toy with that buzz-saw again.”
“Only a bit of scouting, old pal,” wheedled Billy, “a sort of look over and not in. I confess that my bump of curiosity is not growing less as I grow older.”
“Oh, well, let it go at that,” agreed Henri, with an air of resignation. “Maybe it wasn’t intended that we should live long enough to wear carpet-slippers.”
The boys strolled to the square of the memorial column, and halted at a point directly opposite the shop of the silversmith. The front of the establishment was sealed by closed shutters.
“Evidently nobody at home,” said Billy; “and, really,” he added, “I didn’t expect there would be.”
“How do you know but what the old fox is still in his den and not using the front entrance?”