“You wish it no more fervently than I do, my boy,” was the despondent reply. “Wall Street and New York seem like a dream to me. Only this horror is real.”
“I would like to know what it all means,” said Jack. “These men can’t be just common robbers; they appear to have a regular hang-out here.”
“I can’t help thinking that I’ve seen some of these ruffians loitering about Bomobori,” said Mr. Jukes.
“That struck me, too. At any rate they must be the party Thurman wirelessed to me about as leaving just behind us. They’ve followed our trail pretty closely, too. We should have been more on our guard.”
Slowly the hours wore by till daylight began to show in the narrow windows of the old barracks. The positions of both prisoners were most uncomfortable. The strain on their arms from the tightly tied cords was almost unbearable.
“And to think I used to complain of discomfort if my chauffeur allowed my car to bump over a rut,” groaned Mr. Jukes, with a comical pathos that would have made Jack smile had they been in any other situation.
All the men had left the place, but they could hear the murmur of their voices outside. A smell of wood smoke drifted in and then the tantalising odors of frying bacon and the aroma of coffee combined to remind both prisoners that, in spite of their sufferings, they were both hungry and thirsty.
“I wonder if we are going to get any breakfast?” asked Jack, after a silence broken only by Mr. Jukes’ pathetic groans.
“I’d risk a month of dyspepsia for a plate of beans and bacon right now,” wailed the unhappy millionaire.
“Yes,” thought Jack. “There are decidedly situations where all the millions in the world wouldn’t do you much good, and this, apparently, is one of them.”