Meanwhile, from his vantage ground at home, trying to guess at their possible talk, Bob kept watch, deciding in his mind that what they said was probably not worth much as Miss Ogilvie kept her best stories for him. He had learned from Dick that she had never once told that young man of Tom-of-the-Woods. As he sat meditating he noticed a boy hurry up the street from the car-line below, who, as he came under the near light, proved to be none other than Tom-of-the-Woods himself. With a jump of pleasure, forgetting that he was in hiding, Bob left his perch and ran out with a greeting.
"Hello, Tom!" he called.
Tom looked at the little boy for a moment in perplexity, and then without answering started to walk past.
"Want to see her?" Bob asked cheerfully.
Tom stopped. "Yes," he answered.
"I can tell you where she is," Bob went on cautiously. "What'll you give me if I let you know?"
"I'm in a hurry," Tom said. "Don't fool."
"Gimme your top?"
Tom thrust his hand in his pocket and brought the top out. Grabbing it with one hand, Bob pointed with the other. "See her over there?" He indicated the white figure across the street. "That's her. Say," he called after Tom as he dashed away, "will it vanish for me?"
"Bob, come to bed," came a man's voice from within the house, and, accepting the inevitable, Bob went within.