"What do you think of that?" he demanded, pushing the pail up under
Ned's nose. "I guess we're some hustlers for sustenance!"
"Where did you get the hens?" asked Ned. "They sure look good to me."
"You couldn't guess in a thousand years!" Jack replied. "So I'm going
to tell you, right off the handle! Judd Bradley, the blonde fellow
who brought the boy in, came up with them, with the compliments of
Mrs. Brady, about an hour ago. He brought the boy up with him, too.
What do you know about that?"
"Is it the prince, or is it Mike III.?" asked Ned, with a smile.
"If you leave it to me," Jack answered quite positively, "it is the
prince!"
"How does he look and act this morning?"
"Like a kid raised under restraint, now free and full of the de--Old
Nick!"
"And Bradley?" asked Ned.
"That's another point! He watches the kid every second of the time,
and when the boy speaks a word of French he looks daggers at him! I
reckon the son of Mike II. wouldn't be talking French! Nor he
wouldn't be here with a chaperon from Washington. We have found the
prince, all right, and I'm sorry for it! It makes our work too easy!"
"Don't crow until you're out of the woods!" laughed Ned. "There may
be a few adventures in store for us yet! So this seven-year-old boy
talks French, does he?"
"You bet he does! Like a native!"
"Where are they now--Bradley and the boy, I mean?"
"Down by the mules! The boy, who is constantly called Mike--
ostentatiously called by that name--wants to ride Uncle Ike! Fat time
hell have if he gets aboard of that argumentative brute!"
"Are they going to help eat the chicken?" asked Ned.
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