briefly, with his mouth full. "Got a half
dollar, Purt?"

"What if I have?" demanded the dude, suspiciously.

"You put it under that mug on the table, and I bet I can take the
money without touching the mug."

"You cawn't trick me," drawled Port. "You couldn't do that, you know,
Reddy."

"Put your half dollar under the mug and see if I can't," chuckled the
auburn-haired youth.

Thus urged, Purt did as agreed. He placed a half dollar on the table,
and carefully covered it with an inverted mug that he had been
drinking milk from.

Everybody was interested now and was watching the proceedings.

"Better put a napkin over it, Purt," advised Reddy. "For I'm going to
fool you a whole lot!"

"You cawn't fool me, deah boy!" declared the dude, with growing
conviction.

But he carefully covered the mug. Then Reddy, with a grin, reached
under the rough table they were using and soon pulled his hand back
with a half dollar in the palm.

The boys laughed, and wondered, and the girls were likewise puzzled.
Purt looked both amazed and vexed. Then they began to laugh at him.

"Mighty easy way to make half a dollar," commented Reddy, slipping it
into his pocket. "I told you I'd get it, Purt, without touching the
mug."

"But you didn't do it, doncher know!" cried Purt, growing exasperated.
"My half dollar is there."

He whipped off the napkin, lifted the mug--and Reddy, with a laugh,
grabbed the coin that lay under it.

"I told you I'd get it without lifting the mug, Purt," he said, and
the crowd burst into a chorus of laughter. Purt had been made the
victim of the joke, after all.

It was all good fun, however. Purt could well afford the half dollar,
and after a minute he, too, laughed.

They started back for Acorn Island in good season, with a nice string
of speckled trout and some two dozen white perch--the promise of a
splendid "fish-fry" that evening. On the way they passed the heavy
canoe seen several times before on the lake.

There was but one man in it now, fishing; and he sat with his
shoulders hunched up and his hat drawn down about his face.

"I wonder who that old man is?" Chet said, reflectively, as the
_Bonnie Lass_ sped by.

"Wonder where his camp is?" responded Lance, idly.

"He looks like a native," Reddy said. "If he's no handsomer than that
squatter back yonder, I wouldn't want to see him any closer to."

Laura, and Jess, and Bobby looked at each other surreptitiously. They
knew that the m