“I laid it right on the table,” I shouted, “and I laid an oar-lock on it to keep it from blowing away.  Feel around and you’ll get It.  Hurry up.”

I saw him going back up the hill for all he was worth and then I sat down beside the road to wait for him.  I got to thinking about the house-boat and the fun we’d have cruising up the Hudson and how Skinny would get fat and eat a lot, and especially how he’d stare when he saw Jeb Rushmore.  He’s our camp manager, and just wait till you see him, that’s all I say.

But mostly I was thinking about the fun we’d have presenting Skinny to the Elks, and, oh, boy, I could just see Mr. Ellsworth laugh with that funny laugh he has—­trying not to.  And you can bet I was glad we had Skinny started.  Because when a fellow once gets on the trail, he’s a goner.  Oh, bibbie, that was going to be some meeting!  Pretty soon Westy came running back down the hill.

“Did you get it?” I asked him, but, of course, I knew he did.  He was so much out of breath that he couldn’t answer and even after he stopped he had to pant it out, kind of.

“It wasn’t there,” he said.

“Wasn’t there!” I said; “you’re crazy.  Sure it was there.  Where did you look?”

“I looked just where you said,” Westy panted, “and all around besides.  First, I felt all around with my hand and I lifted the oar-lock and it wasn’t underneath it.”

“Maybe you got the wrong oar-lock,” I said, all excited; “there are two of them.”

“The other one was hanging up,” he said; “I found your flashlight on the duffel-bag and poked the light all around and I saw the other oar-lock hanging up.  I threw the light on the ground, too, because there’s a pretty strong breeze up there.”

“How could the breeze blow it away when it was under the oar-lock?” I said.  “It was a new two dollar bill.”

“Well, it wasn’t there, anyway,” he said.

Then for a minute we both stood there and neither one of us said anything.  I know what I was thinking, but I didn’t want to say it.  I guess Westy was thinking the same thing, too.  We both sat down beside the road and after a couple of minutes, he said, “Maybe a tramp took it, hey?”

“Jerry wouldn’t let anyone on the grounds,” I said.  Jerry’s our gardener.  “And besides Don wouldn’t, either.”  He’s our dog—­he’s a collie.  “Well, it isn’t there, anyway,”

Westy said; “I lifted the oar-lock and felt underneath and I laid it down again, right where it was—­on a book or something.  When I flashed the light it wasn’t there.  Come on, we’ll be late.  I’d let you have two bucks if I had that much extra, but I’ve only got two myself.  You can chip in yours to-morrow, it’ll be all right.”

I got up and I felt awful funny.

“Anyway, there’s no use being late,"’ he sald, because I kind of just couldn’t start.

“It isn’t that I’m thinking about,” I told him, “It’s—­”