“I should like to shake him, but I don’t see how we can very well. He’s a reg’lar member of the party.”
“We can be on our guard at any rate,” said Harry. “I’ll tell Jack, and advise him to be careful also.”
At this point Dick Fletcher returned. He looked suspiciously from one to the other, under the impression that something had been said about him. He asked no questions, however, and no information was volunteered. He could not but observe, however, that there was more or less restraint in the manner of his companions toward him, and that they were not disposed to be social.
That day they made nine miles, the road being slightly better than the day before. About five o’clock they reached a rude wayside inn, over the door of which was a swinging sign, on which was printed:
TRAVELLERS’ REST.
“We might as well stop here, instead of camping out,” said Fletcher.
“I’m agreeable,” said Obed, “if the tax isn’t too high.”
“Oh, Linton is moderate in his charges,” said Fletcher. “I’ve known him a good while. He’s a good fellow.”
This was not a very valuable recommendation in the opinion of Obed and the two boys, but they had no objection to becoming guests of the establishment.
It was a rude building, and the accommodations were very limited. In fact, there were but two sleeping rooms. One of these Fletcher occupied, and the other was given up to the other members of the party, there being two beds.