e him the pleasure of my
company until I can get warm."

There was no response to the knock, and so George opened the door
and entered. There was no one in front of the fire; no one in any
of the rude chairs. The boy stood looking about the room for a
moment and then walked back to three bunks fastened against the
wall, one above the other.

When he reached the front of the sleeping places an exclamation of
alarm came from a bundle of furs and blankets on the lower bunk and
a boy's frightened face gazed up at him. The boy sat observing the
other with evident suspicion for a moment, until his eyes caught
sight of the Boy Scout medals which adorned the sleeve of the lad's
coat.

Then he extended an arm in the full salute of the Boy Scouts of
America, and sat back with a grin on his face to note the result.

"Beaver Patrol; Chicago," he said directly.

"I know you," George said with an exclamation of surprise. "You're
Thede Carson, and you're about the toughest little wharf rat in
Chicago!"

"That's a nice recommend for a patrol leader to give one of his
scouts," grinned the boy. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"The last time I saw you," George said, smiling at the memory, "you
were diving into the South Branch to keep out of sight of a police
boat."

"I remember that," grinned Thede. "They said I'd been swiping
bananas up in Gambler's alley, and that wasn't true."

"Well, how in the name of all the seven wonders of the world did
you get into the Hudson Bay country?" demanded George.

"Old Finklebaum," answered Thede.

"Old Finklebaum?" repeated George. "Do you mean the old Shylock
who does business under the three balls down on State street? You
can't mean that he had anything to do with your appearance here?"

"You bet he did have something to do with my being here!" Thede
insisted. "You see, it's just this way: Old Finklebaum says to me
one day, 'I'll take the hair off Ikey's head for selling that
Little Brass God!'"

George gave a quick start of surprise at the mention of the very
article the Boy Scouts had come to the Hudson Bay country in quest
of, but checked himself in a second.

"What did he have a--a--what did you say it was?--if he didn't want
to sell it?" asked the boy in assumed surprise.

"He did want to sell it up to that very day," was the reply, "but
no one wanted to buy it. Then a man came into the shop and said
he'd give a thousand dollars for it on sight. So Finkle