.

CHAPTER XXIII

TIMMY, THE GENTLEMAN, AT HOME

"Oh, won't life seem stale when we get back into the land of crowded
business streets and schoolhouses?" grumbled Reade, as, perched
on the seat of the camp wagon, he drove out onto the highway the
next morning, followed by the other members of Dick & Co. on foot.

"No, sir!" Darry retorted. "Life won't seem stale on that account.
Instead, it will be brightened by the pleasant recollection of
this summer's fun, which is now so soon to be ended."

"You're not going through Fenton, are you, Dick?" asked Greg.

"I guess we'll have to. We were pretty well cleaned out of some
of our provisions last night. We shall have to replenish our
food supply, and Fenton is the only real town along our route
to-day. The rest are small farming villages."

"But we'll attract a lot of attention," declared Holmes.

"You won't," laughed Darry. "You didn't go to town with us last
night, and consequently you're not known there."

"I'd rather not go through the town myself," Dick explained, "but
it seems to me that as long as we must purchase supplies we ought
to make a stop in the town that's likely to have the best stores."

Fenton's principal street had rather a sleepy look this hot August
morning. There were but few people abroad as Dick & Co. turned
into the main thoroughfare.

At Miller's place there was not a sign of life. "I'll wager that
brute is applying raw beef to his eyes this morning," muttered
Tom, somewhat vindictively.

Prescott's watchful glance soon discovered a provision store that
looked more than usually promising. At a word from him Tom reined
in the horse, while Prescott and Darrin went inside to make purchases.

When they came out they found Farmer Hartshorn and another man
talking with Tom Reade.

"You young men of Gridley don't look any the worse, this morning,
for the excitement you had last night," said Mr. Hartshorn, after
a cordial greeting. "Reade tells me that you left the milk-pail
at my house as you came along."

"Yes, sir," Dick nodded. "And with it, we left our very best
thanks for the fine treat that milk proved to be to us."

"Prescott, shake hands with Mr. Stark. He's our leading lawyer
in this little place."

"I've heard a good deal about you this morning," said the lawyer,
as he shook hands.

Mr. Stark was a tall, thin man, of perhaps forty-five years of
age. Warm as was the day he was attired wholly in black, a