, even in his suspicious soul. All the boys were busily
engaged in getting ready for bed, and frequent yawns seemed to indicate
that they would be only too glad to get there.

As the door closed behind him, there was a smothered chuckle of
exultation.

"He won't be round now for another hour," said Tom, "and what we can do
in an hour will be plenty."

"You bet!" said Bill Garwood. "Just watch our smoke."

They slipped the bolt on the door to avoid a sudden surprise. Then they
dragged the clothing and mattress off one of the beds, and made a table
of the springs. On this they piled, indiscriminately, the things brought
from the wardrobe, gloating over the evidence of Ned's generous
provision for the "inner man."

"Say!" exclaimed Fred, "why didn't you clean out the whole store while
you were about it?"

"Some feast," commented Melvin. "Cheese and pickles and sardines, and
pies and chocolates, and ginger ale and soda water, and cake and jelly,
and grapes and----"

"Shut up, Mel, and get busy, or you'll get left," said Slim, as he
speared a bunch of sardines, an example which the rest needed no urging
to follow.

The various good things disappeared like magic before the onslaught of
ten hungry boys, and one would have thought, to see them eat, that they
had just been rescued after days in an open boat without food or water.
And not till the last crumb had disappeared did they lie back in all
sorts of lazy attitudes, like so many young anacondas gorged to the
limit.

"That old Roman, Lucullus, or whatever his name was, who used to give
those feasts, didn't have anything on you, Ned," said Tom. "You've got
him skinned to death."

"Who's all right, fellows?" asked Fred.

"Ned Wayland!" came the unanimous shout.

"And now," said Melvin, "it's up to Billy Burton to give us a song. Tune
up, Billy."

"Great Scott!" protested Billy, "haven't you fellows any feelings at
all? It's cruelty to animals to ask me to sing after such a feed as
that."

But they persisted and Billy finally obliged with what the boys called a
pathetic little ballad, entitled: "I Didn't Raise My Dog to be a
Sausage."

It met with such approval that he gave as an encore: "Mother, Bring the
Hammer, There's a Fly on Baby's Head." This "went great," as they say in
vaudeville, but despite uproarious applause, the "Sweet Singer of the
Wabash" declared that that was his limit for the night.

"A story from Slim!" cried Teddy, and, "A story! A s