“Gee!” grinned Joe when they were alone, “what a liar the old fellow is!”
“Never mind, old man,” replied his chum. “It’s none of our business. We’ve done our duty, and I can sleep like a top on the strength of it. There’s one thing I’m glad about—Luke Maslin has skipped.”
Next morning old Fairclough produced some weak boiled coffee and a plate of hard bread and cheese, which he offered to them for breakfast with every evidence of earnest hospitality, repeating his refrain of abject poverty.
He wrote down the boys’ names in a big, leather-bound book, making a large cross opposite Dick’s name.
When they went out to the stable to look after Mudgett and Tim Bunker they were surprised to find that the rascals had managed to liberate themselves somehow and had taken French leave.
The boys didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry, but, on the whole, they were pleased to find they would not have to appear against the housebreakers.
Then they bade the old man good-bye, advising him to be very careful against any future attempts of a like nature.
They reached the deserted farm about nine o’clock, looked after the horses, made their stomachs happy with a substantial meal, and then hied themselves to the nutting-ground, where they spent most of the day gathering up the remainder of the crop.
Not knowing but they might possibly be surprised by the fugitives, Mudgett and Tim Bunker, if they passed the night in the house, they left the place before dark and put up at Farmer Haywood’s for supper and a bed.
Next day they arrived back in Albany and disposed of their final load of nuts, the whole speculation netting them the sum of $375.