While the meal was still in progress the boys began the recital of their many adventures, and this recital was kept up until a late hour.  It was astonishing how much they had to tell, and how interesting it proved to the listeners.

“You might make a book of it,” said Anderson Rover.  “It equals our adventures in the jungles of Africa.”

“I am going to write it out some day,” answered Dick.  “And, maybe, I’ll get the story printed.  The trouble is, I can’t end the tale properly.”

“How is that, Dick?” asked his Uncle Randolph.  “You were all saved.  Isn’t that a proper ending for any book?”

“Yes, but what of the villain?  Baxter didn’t show himself, and that is no ending at all.  He should have fallen over a cliff, or been shot, or something like that.”

“And we should have married the three girls,” put in fun-loving Tom.  “That would make the story even more complete.”

“Well, things do not happen in real life as they do in story books,” said the parent.  “It is likely you will never hear of Dan Baxter again.  But we may hear from his father.”

“His father!” exclaimed the three youths in concert.

“Why, Arnold Baxter is in prison,” added Sam.

“He was, up to five days ago, when they took him to the hospital to undergo some sort of an operation.  At the hospital the operation was postponed for a day, and during the night he slipped away from the institution and disappeared.”

“Well, I never!” burst out Dick.  “Isn’t he the slick one, though!  Just when you think you’ve got him hard and fast, you haven’t at all.”

“Haven’t they any trace of him?” asked Sam.

“None, so far as I have heard.  There was a report that he had gone to New York and taken passage on a ship bound for Liverpool, but at present the ship is on the Atlantic, so the authorities can do nothing.”

“I hope they catch him.”

“We all hope that, Sam.”

For a few days the three boys did nothing but take it easy.  It was pleasant weather, and they roamed around the farm in company with their father and their uncle, or with Alexander Pop, the colored man of work.  As my old readers know, Pop had been in former days a waiter at Putnam Hall, and Dick, Tom, and Sam had befriended him on more than one occasion, for which he was extremely grateful.

“Yo’ boys is jes’ naturally fust-class heroes,” said Aleck one day.  “Even if dem cannonballs had cum after yo’, I don’t t’ink da could have cotched yo’, no, sirree!”

“It’s a pity you weren’t along, Aleck,” answered Tom.

“I can’t say as to dat, Master Tom.  I got ‘bout all de hair-raisin’ times I wanted when we was in de jungles ob Africy.  I’se only sorry ob one t’ing.”

“And what is that?”

“Dat you didn’t jes’ go an’ frow dat Dan Baxter overboard from dat ship de fust time yo’ sot eyes on him.  Suah as yo’ am born he’ll turn up some day to make moah trouble.”