"It wouldn't be really wise, would it?" Dick counter-queried. "Our tent and shelter flap are pretty wet to take down and fold away in a wagon. We'd find it wet going, too. Hadn't we better stay here until to-morrow, and then break camp with our tent properly dry?" All hands voted in favor of remaining---except the hoboes, who weren't asked. They would remain indefinitely, anyway, if permitted, and if the food held out. But Dick soon set them to work. One was despatched for water, the other two set to gathering wet firewood and spreading it in the sun to dry out. Nor did the trio of remaining tramps refuse to do the work required of them, though they looked reluctant enough at first. Two more hours passed. "I'm afraid our friend, Hustling Weary, is having a hard time to get a doctor who'll come down the road," Dick remarked to Darrin. "Oh, the doctor will come, if Weary has found him," Dave replied. "Doctors always come. They have to, or lose their reputations." Half an hour later a business-like honk! was heard. Then, through the trees Dick & Co. saw an automobile halt down at the side of the road. A tall, stout man, who looked to be about sixty-five years old, but who displayed the strength and speed of a young man, leaped from the car, followed by the tramp messenger. "Mr. Prescott?" called the big stranger. "Yes, sir," bowed Dick. "Dr. Hewitt. Let me see your patient." For some minutes the physician bent over the peddler, examining and questioning the old man, who answered with effort. "I must get Hinman to a hospital some miles from here," the physician explained, aside, to Dick. "The poor old man is going to have pneumonia, and he'd die without hospital care. Probably he'll die, anyway. I'll give him a hypodermic injection in the arm, then wait for him to become quiet. After that we'll move him to the tonneau of my car and I'll take him to the hospital. I telephoned Hinman's son, over at Fenton, telling him where his father and his wagon are. The son ought to come over and take charge of the outfit." It was three quarters of an hour later when Dr. Hewitt examined his patient, then remarked: "He can be moved now, as well as at any time." "There's someone coming," announced Reade, as the sound of a horse's hoofs were heard. Tom went out to look at the new arrival. A man of forty, rather flashily dressed, though somewhat mud-spattered, rode up on a horse that looked much the worse for being abroad on the bad roads. "I understand that Mr. Hinman is here, ill," began the stranger. "He is," Tom nodded. "Have you any interest in him?" "Mr. Hinman is my father." "Come right in," Tom invited, throwing open the flap of the tent. "Hold my horse, will you?" Something in the younger Hinman's way of making the request caused Reade's backbone to stiffen. "I see that you have a piece of halter rope," Tom replied. "You may tie your horse to any one of the trees. They don't belong to me."