"Sounds more like a load of steel girders," added Walter.
At this, Dick arose. He peered through the trees toward a seldom-used wagon road, which ran near the camp. He caught sight of something moving.
"It's a wagon, all right," he said, "but it isn't the ice man."
A few moments later a remarkable rig hove into sight. It consisted of a rattle-trap of a wagon, loaded with all sorts of scrap iron, and drawn by a horse that looked as if it had escaped from the bone yard. It just crawled alone. On the seat was a bright-faced youth, who was doing his best to excite the animal into a speed a little better than that of a snail. He jerked on the reins, called at the horse, and cracked his whip, but all to no purpose.
"It's no use!" he exclaimed, as he looked through the trees and caught sight of Dick and his chums. "He's got the pip, or something like that."
"Why, hello, Henry," called Dick. "What brings you away off here? There's no scrap around here."
"I thought maybe you boys might have had one or two that you'd sell cheap," said the young dealer in old iron, and there was a twinkle in his eyes.
"They're all too lazy to fight, except me," observed Bricktop, "and I'm too good."
