"
"Oh, I shouldn't be surprised if he had trouble in that tramp rig he
insisted on adopting. I told him he was running a risk, but he said
he had masqueraded as a tramp before."
"So he has. He's pretty good at it. Now, Simpson, if you will--"
"Not Simpson! I thought you agreed to call me Featherton,"
interrupted the chauffeur, turning to Morse and Appleson.
"Oh, so we did. I forgot that this lad met us one day, and heard me
call you Simpson," admitted Morse. "Well, Featherton it shall be.
But we haven't much time. It's stopped raining, and the roads will
soon be well traveled. We must get away, and if we are to take the
lad and his machine to some secluded place, we'd better be at it. No
use waiting for Burke. He can look out after himself. Anyhow, we
have the model now, and there's no use in him hanging around Swift's
shop, as he intended to do, waiting for a chance to sneak in after
it. Appleson, if you and Simpson--I mean Featherton--will carry
young Swift, I'll shove his wheel along to the auto, and we can put
it and him in."
The two men, first looking through the hole in the shed to make sure
they were not observed, went out, carrying Tom, who was no light
load. Morse followed them, pushing the motor-cycle, and carrying
under one arm the bundle containing the valuable model, which he had
detached.
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