“Enough, fellows, enough!” he gasped.
“What did I tell you, Larry Burnham?” howled Tom, above the uproar. “Wasn’t I just sure we could do it? Hurrah for Jed Warren! Hurrah for everybody!”
“Order, order!” shouted the genial Mr. Duncan, red-faced and happy. “Order, I say, boys! Let’s get at the bottom of this thing before I succumb from excitement.”
And now, unable to reach Jed Warren, the lads were repeating their manifestations of enthusiasm on Bob Somers, until he, too, sought relief by the side of the grinning policeman.
It was only after exhausted nature came to aid the calmer members of the group that the hubbub began to cease.
“I sure knew you fellers was a lively lot,” cried Jed Warren, “but it strikes me you’ve got more ginger than ever.”
Then began a fusillade of questions. No one heard Jerry Duncan’s invitation to come in the house; no one paid the slightest attention to anybody but Jed Warren and Bob Somers. Tom, triumphant, could scarcely refrain from shouting. What a superb surprise they had in store for Billy Ashe and Teddy Banes. Perhaps they, and all the rest who had had the temerity to reflect on the ability of the Rambler Club, would now reverse their opinions.
Yes, it was a glorious occasion, and Larry Burnham enjoyed it as much as any one; for, he reflected, it was his running away and leading the others into the territory where the smugglers worked that had indirectly brought about such a happy result.
It was a long, long time before every one was satisfied. Not a single question seemed to remain unasked; nor could another response add to the information already gained. Bob Somers was the hero; every one had known it before—but now they were doubly certain. They absolutely refused to listen to the Rambler’s contention that good fortune had played the star rôle.
“Get out!” scoffed Tom. “It was brains—brains—and nothing else. Were we worried? Oh, a trifle. But of course the crowd knew you were all right every minute of the time.”