“All except Dick,” added Darry.  “Why, if anyone were to kill Dick Prescott, Dick would insist on the fellow coming around the next day and proving his death.”

“It was a splendid race, anyway,” Belle glowed.  “Do you notice anything, boys?”

“Where?” asked Tom, looking blankly around.

“Anything about us?” Susie put in.

“Nothing,” drawled Tom, “except that you’re the finest, daintiest and sweetest-looking lot of girls we know.  But that’s true every other day in the week.”

“We didn’t ask you anything like that,” Susie pouted, “though doubtless it’s all true enough.  But don’t you notice what we’re all wearing?”

“I think I see what you mean,” Greg suggested hopefully.  “Each one of you is wearing the Gridley High School pin.”

“Correct!” assented Susie warmly.  “But can’t you guess why we’re wearing the pins?  It’s because when Gridley boys can win such a race as you won to-day it’s a real honor to wear the pin.”

“And a bigger honor to have it worn on our account,” Dick laughed.

“I was waiting to see who would be the first boy to say something really nice!” cried Clara Marshall.

“Have you heard of any more canoe clubs coming this way—–­high school clubs with which you could arrange races?” asked Laura.

“No,” said Dick, with a shake of his head.  “Even if there were a dozen coming here I’m afraid we’d have to lose the chance.”

“Why?” asked Belle quickly.

“Because we can remain here only two or three days longer.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” broke in Susie.  “Do you really have to go back to Gridley?”

“Yes,” said Dick solemnly.

“Is the reason one that you may properly tell us?” Laura inquired.

“It’s one that we’re not ashamed of, because we can’t help it,” Prescott rejoined.  “Our vacation up here is nearly at an end just because our funds are in the same plight—–­nearly at an end, you see.”

“Oh, what a shame!” cried Clara sympathetically.

“To be short of money is more than a shame,” blurted Tom Reade.  “It is a crime, or ought to be.  No one has any right to be poor—–­but what can we do?”

“Oh, well, there are plenty of pleasant times to be had in good old Gridley in the summer time,” Dick declared stoutly.  “And we shall have our canoe there.”

While chatting the young people had been walking up through the hotel grounds until now they stood just behind the stone wall that separated the ground from the road.

“Why—–­look what’s coming!” urged Dave Darrin, in a voice expressive of mock interest.

All looked, of course.

Fred Ripley, his hat drawn down over his eyes, came trudging along.

In one hand he carried a dress suit case, and from the way his shoulder sagged on that side, the ease appeared to be heavy.

On young Ripley’s face was a deep scowl.