“All right,” Squeaky assented. “Hurry up, though.”
Jack produced a pencil and a scrap of paper, wrote down the addresses, and handed the paper to Percy.
“Is that all correct?” he asked.
“All correct,” replied Percy, in a rather peculiar voice as I thought, passing the paper over to me.
If there was anything peculiar in the tone of Percy’s reply, the reason for it was in my hand; for, at the bottom of the paper, Jack had written, “I’ll put in two or three days tracking you, if you say so.”
“Perfectly correct,” said I, handing the paper back to him, and looking hard at him, meanwhile, that he might understand I referred particularly to the last line.
“Very well,” said Jack. “Then I’m ready to start. I’ll take something to eat with me, if you please, as I may not get in to-night.”
He pocketed some bread and meat, untied Ulysses, mounted Toby, and, turning to us, said cheerfully, “Good-bye, you fellows. Keep up your spirits. I’ll see you safely out of this; don’t you be afraid.” Then, turning to Squeaky, he said abruptly, “Say five thousand.”
“Ten,” replied Squeaky, with equal abruptness, “or you needn’t come at all. And no tricks, mind you. It’s dangerous for the boys.”
Jack nodded. “Twenty-one days from to-day, then. Good-bye.”