"Wal, if that ain't the ole Harry!" fumed Eleazer. "That's goin' to ball us all up. There's no use doin' this thing if it ain't done in bang-up style. We don't want a lot of city cops jeerin' at us. We got to get that badge soddered an' them handcuffs unlocked 'fore another move can be made. I s'pose mebbe Nate Harlow over to Belleport could help us out."
"An' go blabbin' all over town the predicament the Wilton sheriff was in? No—sir—ee! Not if I know it. I wouldn't turn to a Belleport man for aid was the criminal to rush from hidin' an' go free. The only thing to do is to motor to Sawyer Falls an' hunt up Pete McGrath, the blacksmith. He's a wizard with tools. I never knew no job to stump him yet. He'll know what to do. The notion of goin' over there ain't such a bad one, neither, 'cause Artie Nickerson, the station-master's, got a relation on the Chicago police force an' had oughter be able to give us a few pointers 'bout how folks is arrested."
Accordingly the two men set forth on their errand.
As the shabby Ford rattled over the sandy thoroughfare, Elisha's strained countenance began gradually to relax.
"Nice day for a ride," remarked he glancing toward the sea. "Fine weather's certainly on the way. Air's mild as summer. 'Fore long we'll be havin' days worth noticin'."
"So we will. April's 'bout over an' May'll be on us 'fore we know it. Then June'll come—the month of brides an' roses."
The allusion was an unfortunate one.
Elisha stiffened in his seat.
Amid the whirlwind happenings of the day, he had forgotten that the man at his elbow was his rival.
"You plannin' to wed in June, Eleazer?" asked he disagreeably.