"His boat might have upset in the storm," Tom suggested. "The wind even shook this boat; it must have been pretty rough out on the river." "Like enough," said the man. "Des'pret characters'll take des'pret chances." "What did he do?" Pee-wee asked, his imagination thoroughly aroused. "Dunno," said the man. "Burglary, like enough. Well now, you youngsters have had yer shelter'n the wust o' the storm's over. It's goin' ter keep right on steady like this till after full moon, an' the ole shebang'll be floppin' roun' the marsh like enough on full moon tide. My advice to you is to git along. Not that you done no damage or what _I'd_ call damage--but it won't do no good fer yer to run amuck o' Ole Man Stanton. 'Cause he's a reg'lar grizzly, as the feller says." The boys were silent a moment. Perhaps the thought of that desperate convict stealing forth amid the wind and rain still gripped them; but it began to dawn upon them also that they had been trespassing and that they had taken great liberties with this ramshackle boat. That the owner could object to their use of it seemed preposterous. That he could take advantage of the technical "damage" done was quite unsupposable. But no one knows better than a boy how many "grouchy" men there are in the world, and these very boys had once been ordered out of John Temple's lot with threat and menace. "Does _everybody_ call him 'Old Man' Stanton?" Pee-wee asked. "Because if they do that's pretty bad. Whenever somebody is known as 'Old Man' it sounds pretty bad for him. They used to say 'Old Man Temple'--he's a man we know that owns a lot of railroads and things; of course, he's reformed now--he's a magnet----" "Magnate," corrected Roy. "But they _used_ to call him 'Old Man Temple'--everybody did. And it's a sure sign--you can always tell," Pee-wee concluded. "Wall, they call _me_ 'Ole Man Flint,'" said the visitor, "so I guess----" "Oh, of course," said Pee-wee, hastily, "I don't say it's always so, and besides you're a--a----" "Sheriff," Mr. Flint volunteered. "So you got to be kind of strict--and--and grouchy--like." The sheriff handed his empty cup to Roy and smiled good-naturedly. "Where does Old Man Stanton live?" asked Tom, who had been silent while the others were talking. "'Long the Nyack road, but he has his office in Nyack--he's a lawyer," said the visitor, as he drew his rubber hat down over his ears. "Can we get back to Nyack by that other road?" "Whatcher goin' to do?" "We'll have to go and see Old Man Stanton," Tom said, "then if we don't get pinched we'll start north." Mr. Flint looked at him in astonishment. "I wouldn't say we've done any damage," said Tom in his stolid way, "and I believe in that about any port in a storm. But if he's the kind of a man who would think different, then we've got to go and tell him, that's all. We can pay him for the stanchions we chopped up."