“Say, I’m beginning to feel glad that I waited breakfast for the swim,” Reade announced.

“Stick to the truth!” mocked Dick.

“But I really am beginning to feel that a little exercise is the best course before breakfast,” Tom declared.

“The next thing we hear,” scoffed Hazy, “you’ll be telling us that you really don’t want any breakfast.”

“I’ll tell you fellows what I’ll do,” Tom called.  “I’ll agree to put off eating until noon if you’ll all stick to the idea.”

But that suggestion did not prove popular.

“I mean it,” Reade insisted.  “I hardly care, now, whether I eat any breakfast or not.”

“What’s that noise below?  Come on!” called Prescott, landing and running along the bank.  Tom was close behind him, the others following.

In their search for Tom they had gotten farther away from the wagon than they realized.  During their brief absence from the spot two tramps had come upon the camp wagon and the piles of discarded clothing.  It was plain that the wagon contained all that was needed for several meals—–­and the tramps were hungry.

Yet the only safe way to enjoy that food would be to partake of it at a safe distance from the rightful owners.

For that reason, after a few whispered words, the tramps hastily gathered up all the clothing of the high school swimmers, dumping it in the wagon.  Then they mounted to the seat.

Just as Dick Prescott and his chums broke from cover they beheld the tramps in the act of driving from the woods out on the road.

Once in the road the tramps urged the horse to a gallop.  It was out of the question for the boys, clad as they were in only swimming trunks to pursue the thieves.

“I—–­I—–­take back all I said about not wanting any breakfast!” gasped Tom Reade, turning to his dismayed chums.

CHAPTER VII

MAKING THE TRAMPS SQUIRM

“You come back here!” screamed Danny Grin desperately.

“Haven’t time now,” called one of the tramps jeeringly, while his companion laid the whip over the startled horse.

With such a start as the tramps had they might be able to drive a mile ere the running boys could overtake them.

Besides, both law and custom forbade six boys clad only in bathing trunks from running along the highway.

“You’ll find the wagon a few miles from here!” jeered the tramp who held the reins.  “We’ll leave it when we’re through with it.  We-----”

But further words could not be heard for the wagon had vanished from view at a turn in the road between the trees.

“We’re in a bad pickle, now!” gasped Tom Reade.

But Dick, studying the lay of the land with swift glances, saw just one chance.  If the tramps turned the horse in the right direction on gaining the highway-----

Dick broke off his thoughts there.