When it broke down, as it frequently did, Hank, who was a philosopher in his way, simply got out his oars and rowed his heavy craft.
As an additional indication that the hut was occupied, light shone through several of its numerous chinks and crannies, and a knock at the door brought forth a low growl of: "Who's there ?" "We want to see you," said Rob.
"This is no time of night to call on a gentleman; come to-morrow and leave your cards," rumbled the gruff voice from inside the hut.
"This is serious business," urged Rob.

"Come on, open that door, Hank.
This is Rob Blake, the banker's son." "Oh, it is, is it ?" grumbled the voice, as the clank of the door-chains being taken off was heard from within.

"Well, I ain't had much business deals with your father lately, my private fortune being somewhat shrunk." With a muffled chuckle from the speaker, the door slowly opened, and Hank, a ragged figure, with an immense matted beard, long tangled hair and dim blue eyes, that blinked like a rat's, stood revealed.
"Come in, come in, gentlemen," he bowed, with mock politeness.

"I'm glad to see such a numerous and representative party.

Now, what kin I do you for ?" He chuckled once more at his little jest, and the boys involuntarily shrank from him.
There was nothing to do, however, but enter the hut, and Hank accommodated his guests with a cracker box apiece as chairs.