“Perhaps they’re working together,” he concluded.
“We’ll go,” said Artie with surprising coolness, in response to the highwayman’s command, as he stepped from the sidewalk to the pavement. “Come on, Guy.”
The latter followed, and presently the man ordered them to halt.
“Now, spill out,” he commanded, still covering them with the light and the pistol. “Turn all your pockets inside out.”
But the “honk” of a horn was now heard a short distance away. A motor car was approaching.
“Get over to this side till it passes,” was the highwayman’s next instruction.
They obeyed, and the motor went slowly by. Guy would have called for help, but the weapon warned him to keep silence. Presently the boys were ordered back into the middle of the street.
“Now,” continued the man, whose face could not be seen clearly because it was behind the light; “out with your valu’bles. Jus’ drop ’em on the pavement an’ move on. It won’t hurt me to pick ’em up. Any gentleman ought to be willin’ to bend ’is aristycratic back once in a while, you know.”
“You’d be a heap better off if you’d bend your back with a pick an’ shovel,” retorted Artie boldly.
“Shut your trap, sissy,” the highwayman ordered. “You don’t look as if you ever overworked a muscle, ’cept your tongue. You better glue that up ag’in the roof o’ your mouth when you’re in the presence of gentlemen o’ my class—you might get into trouble. But I ain’t got no more time to waste. Pull your coats off first an’ drop ’em. I won’t take ’em away, and if you come back here in the morning, you may find ’em ag’in.”