e. By the way,
what's your name?"

"Jim Joggers," replied the tramp.

Dr. Hewitt eyed the fellow keenly for a few seconds, before he
replied, with a slight smile:

"All right; we'll let it go at Joggers until you've put yourself
far enough forward so that you'll be willing to use your own name."

Honk! honk! The car was under way.

When Dick and his three friends turned back to the tent they found
all three of the remaining tramps in there, smoking vile pipes
and playing with a greasy, battered pack of cards. "The weather's
fine again," announced Dick, "and you'll find us the most hospitable
fellows you ever met. My friends, we take pleasure in offering
you the whole outside world in which to play!"

"Talk United States!" growled one of the tramps, without looking
up from the game.

"Tom," laughed Prescott, turning to Reade, "strange dialects are
your specialty. Kindly translate, into 'United States,' what
I have just said to these men."

"I will," agreed Tom. "Attention, hoboes! Look right at me!
That's right. Now---git!"

"You might let us stay on a bit longer," grumbled one of the tramps.
"We ain't bothering you folks any."

"Only eating us out of house and home," snapped Dave.

"And delaying the time when we must wash up the tent after you,"
added Danny Grin.

But the tramps played on, smoked on.

"Did you fellows ever hear of that famous man, Mr. A. Quick Expediter?"
Tom asked the tramps.

"No," growled one of them.

"Expediter was a truly great man," Tom continued. "He had a motto.
It was a short one. One word, and that word was---'git'!"

"We are famed for our courtesy," remarked Darry. "We'd hate to
lose even a shred of our reputation in that line. But in these
present years of our young lives we are football players by training,
and high school boys merely for pleasure. We know some of the
dandiest tackles you ever saw. Shall we show you a few of them?
If you object to observing our tackles---and sharing in the
effects---then signify your wishes by placing yourselves at a safe
distance from such enthusiastic football wranglers as we are."

Greg, Danny Grin and Harry were already crouching as though for
a spring. Dave took his place in an imaginary football line-up,
leaning slightly forward. Tom Reade sighed, then advanced to
the line. All were waiting for the battle signal from Dick Prescott.

By this time the most talkative of the three tramps noted the
signs of a gat