Dick explained who Joseph Thatcher was, and what misfortune had befallen him.
'He gave twenty-eight shillings for the donkey,' concluded Dick, 'and this will go a long step towards setting him up again. The poor old chap's horribly frightened of the workhouse at present.'
'Ah,' said his father, 'the road-hog is the curse of decent motor-drivers. One black sheep can cover the whole flock with discredit. Well, now, boys, jump in, and I'll run you into Bardon in triumph.'
'Oh no, no, father,' cried Dick; 'thank you very much, but that would spoil the whole thing. We must finish it out to the last step on foot.'
'What Spartans!' said Mr. Elliott; 'still ready to face six miles of hot, dusty road after a week's tramping.'
'Yes, father, we must do it,' replied Dick. 'To finish up in a motor-car would take the shine off the whole affair.'
'Well, well, as you please,' laughed Mr. Elliott; 'then, you can hand that money back. Your uncle and I are out for a spin, and we'll slip over as far as Eston, and see Mr. Joseph Thatcher, and console him for his loss with your offering. If one motorist upset him, it's only right for another to do the friendly.'
Dick hailed this proposal with delight, and handed back the seventeen shillings and four-pence farthing. 'I'll be bound the poor old chap will get enough to buy a new donkey before all's done,' chuckled Dick.
'Can't say,' said Mr. Elliott, preparing to back and fill till he had his car round; 'depends on whether your uncle's got any loose silver to throw away. Well, we shall catch you up again long before you reach Bardon.'
The car sped away, and the boy scouts watched it for a moment, then marched on down the Bardon road.