The Cubs knew that their leader’s advice was sound. However, they disliked to be driven away from the premises.
“Gather up your discs, fellows, and let’s move,” Brad told the Cubs. “It’s getting late anyhow.”
In the act of tying his plunder into a knapsack made from his sweater, Dan glanced toward the basement window of the new house.
“Look, Brad!” he commanded. “That guy’s standing there watching us!”
“I don’t like it,” the older boy muttered. “Mr. Hatfield’s right. This is no place for us.”
“We ought to be a match for him.”
“That’s not the point,” Brad argued. “For all we may know, he might be a criminal—armed. He looks like a tough customer.”
“Face is sort of familiar too,” Dan said thoughtfully. “Where have I seen him before?”
“Nowhere that I recall.”
“I’ve seen him some place,” Dan insisted, “or at least he’s someone that reminds me of—I got it!”