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138 from the roundhouse. I thought I'd clip Slump's wings for good. It made one the less to watch."

"Whew!" whistled Ralph slowly, "you're action when you get started, Van."

"There is only a little more to tell," continued Van. "I went back to the Farrington place. Just at dusk, who should drive out but old Farrington himself, with his best team hitched to a close carriage. The fates were again against me. He got out by the rear, and he, too, took the west turnpike. I ran for a mile, keeping tab on a cloud of dust. It was no use. I sat down on a log by the roadside to rest. In a few minutes I keeled over double-quick, and lay flat. Farrington was coming back—on foot."

"He had left his team somewhere?"

"That's it. I waited until he was out of sight. Then I reasoned out that this was a very queer proceeding. I made up my mind that somehow he had given that team over into the keeping of his two young scallawag friends. I put for the country. I inquired along half a dozen branching country roads I took. About an hour ago I gave it up, was trudging back for town, when down the road came a team—Farrington's team. One of its drivers flashed a match to light a cigarette. Then I knew my people. I edged aside, but as