Jack Conroy began to have uncomfortable thoughts of moonless nights in the mountain wilderness, with, perhaps, wild animals prowling about, or high precipices, unseen in the blackness, close to their camp.
"If finding that Jabberwock is as hard as finding supper in Wild Oak, we're going to have a tough time," grumbled Dick, softly. "Don't people have to eat out here, I wonder?"
"An' some o' these natives may hear a few wild croaks if we don't get it mighty soon," laughed Tim. "Hadn't we better yell for help?"
But the difficulty was at length solved by a passer-by, who directed them to a very hilly street where they found the Wild Oak Restaurant, a little frame building surrounded by a group of stately trees.
With sighs of thankfulness, they entered; each threw his load in a corner, while the astonished and agitated proprietor, who would have bravely faced a band of outlaws, stood nervously wondering whether their guns were loaded and might be accidentally discharged.
Of course they ordered the best in the house, and managed to spend a wonderful amount of time over each dish that was set before them. It was the only known occasion when a piece of pie remained on Dave Brandon's plate for more than one minute and thirty seconds.
An anxious expression settled over the proprietor's face, and finally he approached, smiling discreetly.
"I—er—er—I generally close up 'bout nine o'clock," he began, hesitatingly, "an'—"
"There isn't much chance o' your doin' it to-night, old chap," grinned Jack Conroy, calmly.
"Eh?" said the man, looking bewildered.