a fool to go off cycling into the country," put in
Wetherbee, "but I told him I guessed that was where he was 'way off. I
believed you'd had the best time of the two of you."

"Boys," said Selden, "I had the time of my life." He said it almost
solemnly, and laid his hand on the table. "It was like one of those
yarns Bert tells us. Half the time I didn't believe it, and half the
time I was ashamed of myself to think it was all happening to me and
none of your fellows were in it."

"Oh, well," said Jem Belter, "luck chases some fellows, anyhow. Look at
Nick, there."

"Well," Selden summed the whole thing up, "I just FELL into it where
it was so deep that I had to strike out all I knew how to keep from
drowning."

"Tell us the whole thing," Nick Baumgarten put in; "from beginning to
end. Your letter didn't give anything away."

"A letter would have spoiled it. I can't write letters anyhow. I wanted
to wait till I got right here with you fellows round where I could
answer questions. First off," with the deliberation befitting such an
opening, "I've sold machines enough to pay my expenses, and leave some
over."

"You have? Gee whiz! Say, give us your prescription. Glad I know you,
Georgy!"

"And who do you suppose bought the first three?" At this point, it
was he who leaned forward upon the table--his climax being a thing to
concentrate upon. "Reuben S. Vanderpoel's daughter--Miss Bettina! And,
boys, she gave me a letter to Reuben S., himself, and here it is."

He produced a flat leather pocketbook and took an envelope from an inner
flap, laying it before them on the tablecloth. His knowledge that they
would not have believed him if he had not brought his proof was founded
on everyday facts. They would not have doubted his veracity, but
the possibility of such delirious good fortune. What they would have
believed would have been that he was playing a hilarious joke on
them. Jokes of this kind, but not of this proportion, were common
entertainments.

Their first impulse had been towards an outburst of laughter, but even
before he produced his letter a certain truthful seriousness in his look
had startled them. When he laid the envelope down each man caught his
breath. It could not be denied that Jem Belter turned pale with emotion.
Jem had never been one of the lucky ones.

"She let me read it," said G. Selden, taking the letter from its
envelope with great care. "And I said to her: 'Miss Vanderpoel, would
you