supper, Dick & Co. were all assembled once
more.

"You won't need to go to my house," Tom explained triumphantly. "My
father says I can go and he has brought mother around to agree to it."

"Whose house shall we go to first, then?" asked Dick.

"Come to mine," begged Dan woefully.

So to the Dalzell home they went. The boys pleaded their case both with
Mr. and Mrs. Dalzell. Neither parent, however, would do more than say
that "they would see."

At Greg Holmes's house victory was quickly won, and Greg was happy. Next
Dick & Co. went in force to Harry Hazelton's home, where the coaxing was
renewed.

"I want to sleep over this scheme, Harry," said Mr. Hazelton finally,
"and I think your mother does, too. We don't want to see you miss any
good times that you really ought to have, so I think, if the rest are
going, we shall probably decide to let you go, too. But I won't say
'yes' to-night. I'll wait and see how the idea strikes me to-morrow."

"Oh, I guess you're fixed, all right, Harry," grunted Dan when the
Grammar School boys had filed out of the Hazelton house. "But--oh, poor
me!"

"And now, see here, fellows, we want to get around into the stores
before we lose any more time," suggested Dick. "We don't want to forget
that each fellow is to spend half his money in buying the best present
he can get for his mother."

"Do you think it will pay--in my case?" asked Dan dolefully.

"Shame on you, Danny boy!" growled Dave Darrin, giving Dalzell a sturdy
shaking.

"Was there ever a time that it didn't pay a fellow to remember his
mother whenever he had a chance?" demanded Dick. "If my mother had said
'no' and had stuck to it, I'd be mighty glad over being able to get her
a solid Christmas present just the same."

Within another hour the presents had been bought, the crowd sticking
together and giving collective advice for the benefit of each
individual.

Then Dick went home. Instead of passing through the store, where both
his parents were, he took out his key and made for the door that
admitted to the living rooms above. Over the knob was tacked a piece of
paper. Dick took it off and carried it upstairs with him, where, in the
light of the parlor, he read this message, in scrawling print:

"Wait and see if you ain't sorry!"

"This must be from the fit-thrower!" thought young Prescott, with an
inward jump.

He was soon to know.

CHAPTER IV

"REMEMBERED"--BY MR. FITS?

Through the night Dick s