But it was a tired old man under the tree, and, from his forlorn face,
he did not seem to be "enjoying life." He was very old, very shabby,
very tired. His unkempt figure had collapsed feebly by the way
apparently. What astonished the boys was the wheel that lay on its side
near him. He did not look like a wheelman.

"Hold on. Old Till, I say!" called Jot in sudden excitement, forging
ahead to his side. "I say, that looks like our wheel--mine and Kent's!
I guess I know our wheel!"

Jot was riding the borrowed machine. Kent had the one they owned
jointly.

"You're right, sonny; it looks that way!" rejoined Old Tilly, excited in
his turn. "But we can't pounce on it and cut, you know. How do we know
what Kent's up to?"

Jot grunted derisively. "Probably he's given it to the old duffer for a
birthday present--hundredth anniversary!" he scoffed. "That would be
taking his turn at doing knight-errands. Let's go right on and not
disturb the poor old man--"

"Let's have sense!" remarked Old Tilly, briefly. "We'll forge on ahead
and hunt Kent up before we arrest tramps for bike-lifting. When he says
he's been robbed it'll be time to holler 'Stop, thief!'"

"Yes, come on!" Jot called back as he shot ahead. "I haven't a doubt but
we'll find Kentie's got his bike tucked away all safe in the toe of his
stocking!"