But Tom darted straight into the brush.

"Then this is where you are?" demanded Tom dryly. He glanced down
at the cowering form of Alf Drew.

"So you've got the 'makings,' have you?" Reade demanded, seizing
Alf by the collar and yanking him up to his feet.

Paper and tobacco fell from young Drew's nerveless grasp to the
ground.

"You made me drop the makings of a good one," whined Alf resentfully.

"You didn't have that stuff two hours ago. Where did you get
it?" Reade demanded.

"Found it," half whimpered Drew.

"Do you expect me to believe any such fairy tales as that?" insisted
Tom Reade.

"If you have tobacco and cigarette papers," Tom continued, "then
some one gave the stuff to you. It was Dolph Gage, or one of
his rascals, wasn't it?"

"Don't know him," replied the boy, with a shake of his head.

"Now, don't try to fool me, Drew," warned Tom, with a mild shake
administered to the youngster's shoulders. "How much tobacco