CHAPTER TEN
WE STOOD in complete dismay—I did, at any rate—for about as long as it takes to peel a potato. There could be no doubt in which direction the van had moved, for the track of the wheels was plain. It had gone farther up the lane toward the quarry. In the earth, which was still soggy, were a number of footprints.
"By the bones of Polycarp!" exclaimed the Professor, "those hoboes have stolen the van. I guess they think it'll make a fine Pullman sleeper for them. If I'd realized there was more than one of them I'd have hung around closer. They need a lesson."
Good Lord! I thought, here's Don Quixote about to wade into another fight.
"Hadn't we better go back and get Mr. Pratt?" I asked.
This was obviously the wrong thing to say.
