of talk. Yet soon all of them
save Dick looked quite hopeless.

The railroad ran only within eight miles of the lake. From the
railway station the rest of the journey was usually made by automobile
stages, while baggage went up on automobile trucks. Charges were
high on this automobile line up into the hills. To send the canoe
by rail, and then transfer it to an automobile truck would cost
more than to transport it direct from Gridley to the lake by wagon.

"We can talk about it all we want," sighed Tom, "but I don't see
the telephone poles on the golden road to Lake Pleasant."

"We've got to find the way if we can," Dick retorted firmly.
"Let's all set about it at once."

"When do we start?" teased Tom.

"Monday morning early," laughed Dave. "And this is late Saturday
afternoon."

Dan Dalzell was not in his usually jovial spirits. His heart
was as much set on going as was Dick's, but Dan now felt that
the pleasure jaunt was simply impossible.

"Let's meet on Main Street after supper," Dick proposed. "Perhaps
by that time we'll have found an idea or two."

"If we can find a pocketbook or two lying in the Main Street gutter,
that will be something more practical than finding ideas," Tom
replied with a doleful shake of his head. "But perhaps we'll
really find the pocketbooks. Such things are told of in story
books, anyway, you know."

"If we find any pocketbooks," smiled Dick, "our first concern
after that will be to find the owners of them. So that stunt
wouldn't do us much good, even if it happened."

Then the boys separated and went to their respective homes for
supper. But Dick Prescott did not eat as much as usual. He was
too preoccupied. He knew to a penny the amount that was in the
treasury of their little canoe club, for Mr. Prescott was holding
the money subject to his son's call. Certainly the money in the
treasury wouldn't bring about a vacation at Lake Pleasant.

Just as soon as the meal was over Dick went out, strolling back
to Main Street.

"'Lo, Dick!"

Prescott turned to recognize and nod to a barefooted boy, rather
frayed as to attire. Mart Heckler had been two classes below
him when Prescott had attended Central Grammar School. Now Mart
was waiting for the fall to enter the last grade at Central, which
was also to be his last year at school. Mart's parents were poor,
and this lad, in another year, must join the army of toilers.

"You must be having a lot of fun this