"Oh, just a little ways," was the answer. "We'll of come to the house in a minute." He looked behind him, as if to make sure no one was following, and then added in a whisper: "My friend, he lives down in an old house away off in the trees. He doesn't of want anybody to know he's there."
"Oh, I see!" exclaimed the sailor. "Sort of hiding away, is he? Well, I've done that myself."
They walked on a little farther, the sailor still dragging Ruddy along, and at last the two men pushed their way through some bushes and came to an old, tumble-down house, that did not seem a much better place to sleep in than was the old log cabin.
"Here we are," said Ike Stein, the junk man. "Here we are!"
The sailor looked about him, shook his head once or twice, and then said:
"Well, I guess we can stand it here for one night, eh, Ruddy?"
He called the dog the same name as did Rick—the name that just seemed to fit the setter. And Ruddy looked up and wagged his tail just a little, for these were the first kind words the sailor had spoken to him.
"Yes, I guess we can stand it here one night," went on the ragged sailor. "Where's your friend?" he asked the junk man, "and where's something to eat for me, and a bone for my dog?"
"Oh, my friend he will of be right out," promised Ike Stein, rubbing his hands as though giving them a dry wash to get off some of the dirt. "He's most probable of looking at us now from one of the windows."
"Oh, he is, eh? Spying like! Well, I don't see him!" said the sailor glancing from one broken window to another.