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 vacation, Dick,” remarked Mart rather wistfully.  “Lot of fun in that war canoe, isn’t there?”

“Yes; there is, Mart.  If we see you down at the float one of these days we’ll ask you out for a little ride.”

“Will you?” asked Mart, his eyes snapping.  “Fine!  Now that you fellows have your canoe I don’t suppose you’ll be trying to go away anywhere this summer.  Too much fun at home, eh?”

“I don’t know about that,” said young Prescott wistfully.  “Just now we’re planning to try to take the canoe up to Lake Pleasant for a while.”

“Bully place, the lake,” said Mart approvingly.  “I’m going up there Monday.  Going to be gone for a couple of days.”

“How are you going to get there?” Dick asked with interest.

“You know my Uncle Billy, don’t you?” asked Mart.  “He’s the teamster, you know.  He’s going to Lake Pleasant to get a load of furniture that the installment folks are taking back from a new boarding house up there.  He said I could go up with him.  We’ll carry our food, and sleep over Monday night in the wagon.”

Dick halted suddenly, trembling with eagerness.  He began to feel that he had scented a way of getting the canoe up to the lake in the hills!

CHAPTER X

PUTTING UP A BIG SCHEME

“Your uncle will be at his regular stand to-night, won’t he?” queried Dick Prescott.

“I expect so,” Mart agreed.  “What’s the matter?  Do you want to go along with us?  I guess Uncle Billy would be willing.”

At this moment Dick heard a group of younger boys laughing as they strolled along the street.

Following their glances, Dick saw in the street what is commonly known in small towns as the “hoss wagon”—–­a vehicle built for the purpose of removing dead horses.

“There goes Fred Ripley’s bargain!” chuckled one of the boys.

At that moment Fred Ripley himself turned the corner into Main Street.

“And there’s Rip himself,” laughed another boy.  “Hey, Rip!  How’s horse flesh?”

But Fred, flushing angrily, hurried along.  “What’s up?” asked young Prescott as the group of boys came along.

“Haven’t you heard about Fred’s pony?” asked one of the crowd.

“I know he bought a pony,” Dick answered.

“Yes; but Squire Ripley had a veterinary go down to the Ripley stable this afternoon, and look the pony over,” volunteered the ready informant.  “Vet said that the pony would be worth a dollar or two for his hide, but wouldn’t be worth anything alive.  So Squire Ripley ordered the pony shot, and that cart is taking the poor beast away.”