"Nat Wingate!" chorused the Ramblers, in astonishment.
"Surprised to see me, eh?" chuckled the former chief of the Nimrods.
He burst into a laugh.
"I just lit out," he said; "guess Uncle Parsons will be wild when he finds that I've given him the slip."
"I'll bet he will," said Dick.
"But it will be nothing to the way that poor old 'Hacky' is going to feel. My, but isn't he in a state of mind! Ha, ha, ha! Just think of the whole crowd being taken back to Kingswood like a parcel of little kids."
"Going to let your uncle know you are with us?"
"Guess so. Wait till I get a chair, and I'll join the company."
"Well, what do you think of this?" whispered Bob.
"That he certainly likes our company," said Dave, with a smile. "Still I—"
"Look out! Here he comes back," put in Tom.
Nat planted his chair in their midst.
"I wasn't going to be cheated out of a lot of fun," he proceeded; "and, if Hacky had had any real sand, the whole crowd might be together now. Say—did you notice how he glared when Uncle Parse was talking?"
At the recollection, Nat began to laugh again.
"We've had a queer trip," said Bob; "some mighty funny things happened."
"I should say so. Both boats gone—well, we can have a good time yet. Hacky's got my gun, though," he added, reflectively, as he glanced at those of the Ramblers'.
"You're welcome to ours," said the poet laureate.
"Thanks! What's on the programme, Somers?"
"We are going to Tocono, see a bit of the town, then keep right on."
"Will you stay long?"
"Oh, a day or two."
"Heard that it's a pretty lively place," commented Nat; "no end of things to see. Maybe we'll like it well enough to put in a week."
By this time the steamboat was far out in the bay, and the shore was barely discernible on the horizon. The boys, too active to sit still very long, left their seats for a tour of inspection. They visited the engine room, interviewed the engineer, then trooped into the restaurant, where a meal was thoroughly enjoyed. Nat, by his loud speech and droll remarks, managed to attract a great deal of attention.
About two o'clock, Tocono was sighted.
"Biggest town we've seen yet," said Bob, as they approached.
"Makes Clair Bay look like a village," declared Nat.
Factories of all sorts and warehouses fronted the bay, while church steeples and a number of towering structures rose above the great mass of buildings beyond.
"We ought to have a great time here!" exclaimed Nat, gleefully. "Won't I crow over Hacky when we get back to Kingswood?"
Nat pushed forward, and was the first to pass down the gangplank.
A wide thoroughfare led along by the bay. It had the usual characteristics of a waterfront street. Irregular rows of buildings crowded between high, gloomy warehouses, ship-chandlers' stores and sail lofts were prominently in view, while empty casks, sending forth odors of tar, sugar and other commodities, stood against cellar ways and on the curb. The street was crowded with drays and trucks, and altogether presented an interesting sight to the boys.
"Kingswood isn't like this, is it?" exclaimed Nat, his eyes flashing with pleasure. "Some life here. Christopher! I'd like to stay a couple of weeks."
"Going to a hotel now, Bob?" ventured Tom Clifton.
"Might as well," put in Dick; "then we can get washed up a bit, before sallying out to see the sights."
They crossed a wide street, dodging between the vehicles, then turned along it, passed under a railroad bridge, and, at length, reached a busy section of the city.
Electric cars whizzed along; on every side there was something of interest to see.
At the junction of Main and State Streets, the boys came to a stop.
"Which way?" queried Tom Clifton.
"Any way," laughed Bob; "feel kind of lost, Tommy?"
"Makes a fellow sick of a little place like Kingswood," said Nat.
In the course of a half hour, just off the main street, they stopped in front of the Wisconsin House.
"Think we are too good for this place?" asked Bob, with a smile.
"Maybe they won't take us in, you mean," grinned Nat. "Shoulder arms! Forward march! Charge past the big front door, and we'll soon find out."
The boy entered, and walked up to the desk.
"Is this a hold up?" asked the clerk, with an amused glance at the array of guns.
"Depends on you," Nat glibly answered; "some hotels try it."
The clerk laughed.
"Can't catch you, young fellow," he said. "What do you want—distinguished guest suite?"
"That's it," laughed Nat; "and all the good things that go with it."
Bob Somers and Sam Randall took one room, Brandon and Travers another, while Nat and Tom Clifton occupied a third.
After a general wash-up and glance at the newspapers in the reading-room, the boys started out to see the town.
Naturally, the business section, with its big stores and lively appearance, received their first attention.
"Fellows," observed Nat, as if with a sudden thought, "I guess I'll scribble a telegram to my uncle. Wait for me here. There's a telegraph office 'cross the street."
"Why not write?" asked Bob.
"Hate letters! Besides, now I come to think of it, old Uncle Parse may be kind of worried. You see," added Nat, "I left pretty suddenly."
"All right, we'll wait," said the poet laureate.
"Hurry it up," urged Dick Travers; "supper time will be here before we know it."
The former leader of the Nimrods acted with commendable promptness, and the party soon continued on their way. They all enjoyed themselves hugely, and, after supper, visited the principal theatre.
Before turning in that night, Bob Somers, sitting on the edge of the bed, made this observation:
"Take my word for it, Nat Wingate is up to some mischief. I can't help liking him, but he hasn't followed us just for the pleasure of our company."
Sam tilted his chair back and balanced himself, a feat he had learned after much practice.
"What do you think now?" he queried.
"That Wingate is bound to delay us as much as possible."
"But he ran away from his uncle."
"Perhaps he did, and perhaps he didn't," said Bob. "I've been thinking about it."
"Do you think"—Sam let his chair come down with a bang—"that it was—no, you can't mean it—that it was all a bluff?"
"It wouldn't surprise me a bit."
"Great Cæsar, Bob Somers!" exclaimed Sam, rising and walking briskly up and down; "you're making a great mystery out of this, aren't you? How do you explain about the 'honest man' act?"
"Part of the game. The provisions were all left. Nat made no efforts to signal. He didn't seem to care about it."
"And you think—?"
"That neither Nat nor his uncle is especially anxious for us to reach my father's property out there in the wilds."
Sam whistled and his eyes sparkled.
"Perhaps you've struck it, Bob, my lad. But, oh, wow, I'm too sleepy to think any more about it. You and I, Bob, will play detectives. Natty had better look out."
Bob laughed.
"Don't for the world let him suspect anything," he cautioned. "Whatever his game is, it will have to be a pretty smart one to get ahead of us, after this."
Next day the boys continued their explorations until noon. It was just after lunch, when Nat, with his usual smile, exclaimed: "I'm going to the post-office to write some letters. Guess you don't want to come along, eh?—No! Well," he added carelessly, "I'll see you later."
"Now's our time," said Bob, in a low tone, after Nat had disappeared; "come on, Sam. Our detective work continues from this moment."
"What are you going to do?" queried Dick Travers, with interest.
"Follow Nat, and—"
"Oh, that's absurd," put in Tom Clifton. "What is the use of wasting so much time?"
"We can't stop to talk, fellows," declared Bob, hastily; "Sam and I will meet you this evening. No use to make any kick," he added, as Dick began to object.
Then, before the other Ramblers could add a word, he was off, with Sam at his heels.
"As I live, I'm afraid he has slipped away from us," exclaimed Sam, who was full of enthusiasm at the new rôle he was playing.
"No! I see him, passing that white building over there," cried Bob. "Now, Sam, we must be very cautious. One little mistake might spoil the whole business."
The two separated, taking different sides of the street.
Bob found that shadowing was not as easy as he had supposed it to be. To keep Nat in view, and himself out of sight, proved a difficult task. Once, owing to groups of people and passing vehicles, the trail was lost entirely.
But Sam Randall's sharp eyes had been used to advantage, and with a wave of the hand, he put Bob on the right track again.
"My gracious!" muttered the lad; "he's just going to the post-office, after all. Perhaps we're having a wild goose chase. Yes," he added, a few moments later, "that's where he is bound."
Nat turned into the building, while Sam Randall rejoined his companion.
"Think we got left this time?" observed Sam.
"Seems like it," returned Bob; "but don't let us give up so easily. We'd better look sharp, or he will give us the slip yet."
The post-office was a rather imposing building, standing next to a department store. The entrances, running the entire length of the building, were fortunately all on one street. Therefore, when Nat reappeared, the two Ramblers were quickly on his track.
It is quite probable that had he been at all observant, the ex-Trailer would have seen either Bob or Sam, for, in their anxiety to always keep him in view, they often exposed themselves unnecessarily.
"He is not going back to the hotel, that is certain," said Bob to himself. "Ah! It begins to look interesting."
Nat stopped to speak to a policeman at a crossing.
"Must have asked for directions," muttered Bob.
The man in the blue uniform waved his arm, and Nat moved off at a brisk pace.
"It's getting warm now," chuckled Bob. "Wonder what he would think if he knew that we were at his heels? Whew! I'll have to be more careful. He almost caught me that time."
Along one street, down another, several times stopping to ask directions, Nat led them a merry chase.
In about half an hour, the outskirts of the city were reached. Rows of pretty residences, surrounded by gardens, extended a considerable distance, until, finally, fields, partly wooded, with a house here and there, came into view.
"Talk about a mystery—this beats everything," thought Bob, with a tinge of excitement.
He nimbly jumped over a fence, back of which were numerous shrubs and trees, and thus being better able to protect himself from observation, increased his speed until he had gained a considerable distance on the unsuspecting Nat.
On looking back, he saw that Sam had followed his example.
"Ah! That's where he is going, eh? Have to be a little careful now. It wouldn't do to be caught napping, Bobby."
On the opposite side of the street, which bore the name of Chelten Road, and just beyond the end of the field, stood a plain, unattractive building, two stories high, with green shutters. In front was a garden enclosed by wooden palings, while at the edge of the pavement stood a huge sycamore, the branches overtopping the house.
Nat pushed open the swinging gate, mounted the steps, and Bob could hear the knocker loudly sounded.
He threw himself down in the midst of some tall grass, and peered cautiously over the lower rail of the fence.
"Perhaps we may learn—"
An involuntary exclamation suddenly escaped his lips. He had made a startling discovery.
The man who opened the door and shook hands with Nat was none other than Mr. Parsons Wingate himself.