"Do you live around here?" asked Paul, wondering how the lame man knew of the view so far out from Buffalo.
"No, not exactly. I used to, when I was a boy, but the city is my home now. I don't often get out into the country, and when I do I like to take advantage of it."
"That's the idea," said Dick.
They walked on, chatting about various subjects. Dick had taken a certain electric switch out of his car, without which it was impossible to start it, so he had no worries about leaving the auto in the roadway unprotected.
"Are we walking too fast for you?" inquired Dick, and his two chums, who happened to be looking at him, thought the young millionaire regarded their visitor with a rather strange glance.
"Oh, no, I can keep up this pace," he said, though he seemed to be walking more and more slowly. "I did give my ankle a bad twist," he went on, "and I'll have it looked to as soon as we get to Hazelton. It isn't much farther to the top of the hill now."
They had gone only a few steps more, when, with an exclamation of pain, Mr. Brockhurst came to a halt. His face was screwed up in an expression of anxiety.
"I'm afraid I'd better not go on any further," he said, sitting down on a grassy place. "I don't want to strain my foot too much. I'll wait for you here. Go on and get a look at that view. You wouldn't want to miss it. Lots of people go miles out of their way for it. I'll just sit here and rest."
"Are you sure you'll be all right?" asked Dick.