"Come now, you boys git out of here! No tramps allowed in Freeport while
Ezra Jenkins is constable! Move along, now, or I'll arrest ye! Here's my
badge of authority!" And a crabbed old man, wearing a faded blue suit,
with a big shining star of metal on his coat, tapped the emblem with his
club.

Two boys, who had just joined each other, after having called at houses
on the main street of the little New York village, where Constable
Jenkins held sway as the entire police force, started at the sound of
the harsh voice.

"Come; are ye goin' to move?" snapped the constable.

"I suppose we'll have to," answered the larger and stouter of the two
lads, "but we haven't done anything."

"Ye're tramps, ain't ye?" inquired the constable. "Course ye are! Been
beggin', ain't ye? Course ye have! I kin see the victuals stickin' out
of yer pockets now! Move on an' git out of Freeport! We don't want any
tramps here!"

"Come on, Mark," said the heavier of the two boys; "if our room is
better than our company, they can have the room. I hope you'll get
richer boarders than we are," the youth went on, turning to the
constable. "We are going to shake the dust of Freeport from our feet.
I think they ought to call this town Closedport instead of Freeport!"

"None of yer sass, now!" warned the constable, tapping his badge again.