uced a startling effect. Ned puckered his
lips and gave a low whistle. Randy stared at Clay for an instant and
then burst into a laugh.

Why this avowal on Nugget's part was received in such a peculiar way
will be more clearly understood if a few words be said about that young
gentleman himself.

Nugget was a New York boy, greatly addicted to cream colored clothes,
white vests, patent leather shoes, high collars, gorgeous neckties, kid
gloves, and canes.

He was about seventeen years old, and was tall and slender.

He had gray eyes, a sandy complexion and straight flaxen hair, which he
wore banged over his forehead. A vacuous stare usually rested on his
face, and he spoke in a slow, aggravating drawl.

Nugget had made the acquaintance cf the boys during the previous summer,
which he spent with his uncle in Harrisburg. He was a good enough fellow
in some ways, but the several occasions on which he had been induced to
go on fishing and boating excursions, had resulted in disaster and
ridicule at poor Nugget's expense.

"What Nugget doesn't know about swell parties, and dancing, and operas
isn't worth knowing," Clay Halsey had said at that time; "but when it
comes to matters of sport he doesn't know any more than a two days' old
kitten."

The truth of this terse remark was readily appreciated by Clay's
companions, and their present amazement and consternation on learning
that Nugget wanted to go canoeing with them, can be easily conceived.

"Are you in dead earnest, Nugget?" asked Randy after a pause.

"Of course I am," was the aggressive reply. "I don't see anything funny
about it though. I haven't been very well lately, and father let me stop
school a month ahead of time, and come over here. I know he'll let me go
canoeing if I write and ask him."

"But canoeing is vastly different from the kind of trips you made with
us last summer," said Ned. "There is a good deal of hardship about it.
You remember what a fuss you used to make over the merest trifles."

"You'll have to wear rough flannels and old clothes," added Randy. "You
can't take kid gloves and patent leathers with you."

"And you'll have to sleep on the ground," put in Clay, "and eat coarse
food. No chocolate cake and ice cream about canoeing."

"Oh, stop your chaffing," drawled Nugget sullenly. "I understand all
that. I'm not as green as you think. If you fellows can stand it I can.
Besides I've been practicing on the Harlem River this spring. I p