"When I said my arm was hurt he didn't believe me. I insisted. One word led to another and he came at me with the lash. Then you boys jumped in. I can't thank you enough." "That's all right," said Tom. "We were glad to do it. I like a good scrap!" And to do him justice, he did--a good, clean, manly "scrap." "I wonder if he will bring that money?" remarked Ben Snow. "He's gone a long time." "Oh, he keeps it hidden away in an old boot," replied Link. "He'll have to dig it out. But don't let me detain you." "We like the fun," spoke Andy. "We'll stick around for a while yet." And, while the boys are thus "sticking around," may I be permitted to introduce them more formally to you, and speak just a word about them? With their names I think you are already familiar. Andy Blair was a tall, good-looking lad, with light hair and snapping blue eyes that seemed to look right through you. Yet, withal, they were merry eyes, and dancing with life. Chet Anderson was rather short and stocky, not to say fat; but if any of his friends mentioned such a thing Chet was up in arms at once. Chet, I might explain, was a contraction for Chetfield; the lad being named for his grandfather. Ben Snow was always jolly. In spite of his name he was of a warm and impulsive nature, always ready to forgive an injury and continually seeking a chance to help someone. Clever, full of life and usually looking on the bright side, Ben was a humorous relief to his sometimes more sober comrades. Quiet and studious was Frank Newton, a good scholar, always standing well in his class, and yet with his full share of fun and sport. He was a mainstay on the baseball team, where he had pitched many a game to victory. With the exception of Tom Hatfield you have now met the lads with whom the first part of this story is chiefly concerned. Tom was one of the nicest fellows you could know. His parents were wealthy, but wealth had not spoiled Tom. He was happy-go-lucky, of a generous, whole-souled nature, always jolly and happy, and yet with a temper that at times blazed out and amazed his friends. Seldom was it directed against any of them; but when Tom spoke quietly, with a sort of ring like the clang of steel in his voice, then was the time to look out. The five lads came from the same town, as has been said, and had been friends, more or less, all their lives. With their advent at Milton their friendship was cemented with that seal which is never broken--school-comradeship. You boys know this. You men who may chance to read this book know it. How many of you, speaking of someone, has not at one time said: "Why, he and I used to go to school together!" And is there anything in life better than this--an old school chum? It means so much. But there. I started to tell a story, and I find myself getting off on the side lines. To get back into the game: