“Why he daren’t come back, you see, till it blows over,” Lanky went on. “They lay it all to Bill, and there was a lot of talk about havin’ him sent off to the reform school. Ten to one Bill’s got wind of that, and he’s bound to hang out till the people of Columbia forget the worst of it. Then some fine day he’ll show up in his old haunts; and ’cept for a ripple of talk, it won’t be noticed.” “I guess you’ve hit the nail on the head, Lanky,” Frank continued, approvingly. “And not wanting to stay out in the woods all alone, Bill has put the screws on Asa and Watkins, keeping them for company.” “That’s the talk, Frank, as sure as you’re born. P’raps they calculate to drop in next Wednesday, when the whole place is wild with interest in the athletic contests; and nobody’ll have time to bother any about such small fry as three boys who’ve been makin’ trouble at school.” The two had been walking swiftly along while chatting in this manner; and were drawing near the crossroads known far and wide as Budd’s Corners, because Tom Budd’s father owned most of the property round about that section. It was here the gypsy tribe camped, year after year. Their appearance always created considerable of a stir through the country. Men visited the camp to talk horse gossip with the knowing male members of the tribe. Women sometimes accompanied them, on the pretense of “just looking around,” and finding out how these nomads lived; but secretly in the hope that a chance might arise whereby they could get their fortune told by someone connected with the tribe, possibly the queen herself. There were a few couples in sight, even then, coming from or heading toward the gypsy camp. The boys were glad to see this. It would serve to keep any of the gypsies from suspecting that their visit had any particular meaning. “What do you suppose that crowd is standin’ there for, gapin’ at somethin’ fastened to that tree yonder?” Lanky asked, as they drew near the spot where the gay wagons, and the tents of the road wanderers, could be seen among the trees. “Looks like they might be reading some notice; and there are a number of gypsies in the lot, too,” Frank replied. “Shucks! I know,” exclaimed the other, suddenly. “I think I’ve guessed it, too,” Frank went on to say. “I remember that bill-poster said he had a few more notices of the meet to stick up; and the chances are he’s been along here in his buggy. Pudge Watkins wouldn’t stop because it was Sunday. You never saw him at church in your life.” “That’s what!” echoed Lanky. “And looks like the gyps might be some stuck on that colored show-bill, too, Frank. Hope they like it well enough to figure on staying around this section till after the athletic stunts have been pulled off.” “Suppose we stop here a bit, and listen to what they say?” suggested Frank. “I’ll go you on that idea,” replied Lanky. “It may put us wise about what they mean to do.”