"If you want anything better than a sob song you'll have to give me time to get my breath back." As though satisfied that they could get no sport out of the high school boys for the present, the tramps allowed them to lie on the ground, breathing fitfully and groaning.
Dick was watching his chance to get up and bolt, depending upon his speed as a football player to take him out of this dangerous company.

Darrin was equally watchful---but so were the tramps.
Plainly the latter did not intend to let their prey get away from them easily.
As for Reuben Hinman, obeying a command, the peddler had alighted from his wagon and now sat with his back against a tree.

He had no thought of trying to get away, well knowing that his aged legs would not carry him far in a dash for freedom.

The peddler's wearied horse stood and dozed between the shafts.
"It's about time for you younkers to be doing something," urged the boss tramp, after some minutes had slipped away.
"If you'll find the strength for me to stand up," urged Dick, "maybe I can dance, or do something." "Did we muss you up as much as that ?" demanded the boss tramp.
"It serves you right, then.

You shouldn't have meddled in our pastimes.