He stood still, listening in amazement. His face had dried by now; he
passed his hand across it; he tugged at his fierce military moustache.
"Hiding--near us--in the open--everywhere," he muttered, though no one
heard him; "I've had my flashes too."
"Different people get different signs, of course," the Tramp made
himself heard at length, "but they're all the same. All lie along the
trail. The earth's a globe and circle, so everything leads to the same
place--in the end."
"Yes," said Stumper; "thank you"--as though he knew it already, but
felt that it was neatly put.
"Follow up your flash," added the Tramp. "Smell--then follow. That is
--keep on looking."
Stumper turned, pirouetting on what the children called his "living
leg." "I will," he cried, with an air of self-abandonment, and
promptly diving by a clever manoeuvre out of their hands, he fell
heavily upon all fours, and disappeared beneath the dense bramble
bushes just behind them. Panting, and certainly perspiring afresh, he
forced his way in among the network of thick leaves and prickly
branches. They heard him puffing; it seemed they heard him singing
too, as he reached forward with both arms into the dark interior.
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