"We won't go home till morning; we won't go——"
"Shut up, you fool!" the other muttered, shaking him by no means gently. "You'll wake the old man, and——"
The two watchers rose upon their knees. Two revolvers clicked gently, which made the printer's boy start in alarm, and then came a subdued "Now!"
Before the victims could move or utter a sound two stalwart, roughly dressed, black-masked figures sprang out into the road. And the half-drunken pair found themselves gazing into the muzzles of two glistening revolvers.
"Hold up your hands!"
Half dead with terror the printer obeyed; the other sunk in a heap to the ground, his teeth fairly chattering.
"Not a sound!" was the next gruff order, obeyed equally well; and then the robbers got quickly to work.
It was all done so expeditiously that the victims scarcely realized it. One of the men covered the two with his weapons and the other went swiftly through the pockets of both.
He did not seem to care for watches or money. It was papers he looked for, and he glanced at what he found with feverish impatience. He had a matchbox in his hand, and he turned away from the party as he struck a light and read one after the other, tossing them aside with an angry exclamation. He searched the printer first and seemed to find nothing. Then he went for Benny, tumbling him about the ground and not forgetting to administer sundry vigorous kicks.
He had almost searched Benny, too, without success, when suddenly he gave an exclamation of joy, an exclamation which almost caused the other to drop his revolvers. The searcher had put his hand into a small, out-of-the-way pocket, and found a bit of carefully folded paper.