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“Mr. Whitney? Oh, you mean ‘Whiskers,’ who put the engineering bug into Bob’s head, last year. We found him up the river at the cave. Would you like to go up there?” You will find you need some others, Bob paid no attention to him. “Jerry,” he said, “is it true? If you tell me now it isn’t I’ll believe that you just got mixed up in the poker game and—and—Oh, Jerry, I can’t believe it. Please—please tell me it isn’t true.”.

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Bob heard a crunching noise behind him and turned his head to find that Ted Hoyt too had been unable to stand the strain of waiting uncertain as to what was happening to his friends. Johnny deliberated all the afternoon as to whether he should tell his mother what had happened or not. She was so everlastingly anxious about such things. But when she came to his room to say good night, he burst out with it. He was just sick and tired of seeing those apples in that good-for-nothing garden. Good-for-nothing it certainly was, and very, very old. There was only one apple tree besides the one Johnny was so interested in, but its fruit could scarcely be called apples at all. He would call them croquet balls—such hard green things as they were—hard as rocks. Of course if any of them were on the ground, he bit into them. In fact, he had eaten a good many of them first and last, but they were horrid things, anyway. “Some surprise those chaps will get!” laughed Bob to himself as he started down the river in the general direction of the dam. “I wonder what they’ll do. Hit the high spots probably getting away from this neck of the woods!”.