"Oh, yes, he's here; pulled in somewhere around midnight, I guess. He stayed all night with one of our troop; he's up there now getting his breakfast. Great kid, isn't he?" he laughed. "He was telling us about rice cakes. We're kind of out of date up here, you know. I was a little balled up on your spacing," he added as they went up the wharf. "I haven't got the International down very good. Yes, we were drifting around, a couple of us, telling Ford jokes, when you sprung it on us."
"Have you got the signaling badge?" said Roy.
"Oh, yes, I managed to pull that; I'm out for the star now."
"You'll get it," said Tom.
"Is the kid all right?" Roy asked.
"Oh, sure; but he had some pretty rough handling, I guess. It was quite a little movie show when we dragged the other one out. Lucky the station agent and the constable were there. He's up there now waiting for the men from Ossining."
Through the surging crowd Tom and Roy could see, sitting on a bench at the station, a man in convict garb, with his hands manacled together and a guard on either side of him. In the broad light of day he was a desperate-looking creature, as he sat with his ugly head hanging low, apparently oblivious to all about him.
"I don't understand," said Roy.
"Didn't you know about him?"
"Not a thing—except we did know someone got away from Sing Sing the other night—but we never thought——"