“Midlandville, stupid!” This from P. Jones, Esq., with a superior air. “That was one of the first things I heard.”
“Coster’s paper didn’t mention that burg, did it?” asked Dave.
“Reckon not. But on this envelope,” here Phil took out the pencilled scrap, “there’s a dot with the word ‘town’ beside it that I take to mean the same thing. Here runs the railroad, going east and west. Look at this line running due southeast. Somewhere along that line I figure there ought to be signs of the old tavern. I guess we’ve left that town at least six or eight miles behind.”
Where they were now much of the timber appeared to be second growth, and such hemlocks as they saw were small.
In a shaded spot to the right of the ill-kept highway they stopped at a small rivulet for the noonday lunch. This was eaten rather silently. In fact, so gloomy were their surroundings that after eating Phil Way proposed that they should divide themselves, two in each party, and explore to the north and south of the highway for a mile or so, making a detour into the forest as they went.
“I’m with you,” said Paul briskly. “I’m getting tired of all this guessing. Let’s start from here, Phil, and take a half circle northwest, then west, then south, crossing the highway. After another mile, we’ll turn east, then northeast, then north until we strike the road again. Dave, you and Billy do the same thing, only turn northeast, east, then south and so on so as to bring you back to the road not far from where we all are now.”
But before any comment could be made on this plan there came a sudden interruption.
CHAPTER XII
NAN AND THE JERSEY BULL