“I only had three,” said Ned regretfully. “I think I’ll go back.” “Too late, too late!” murmured Dan. “Ye cannot enter now!” “Perhaps if we hang around here they’ll give us five o’clock tea.” Dan groaned. “Not if I’m strong enough to resist,” he said. “What time is it?” “Haven’t you a watch?” “Yes, but I can’t get at it.” “That’s my case exactly.” Five minutes afterwards Ned remarked weakly: “I think it’s about a quarter-past three.” “We ought to be going,” sighed Dan. “We ought,” groaned Ned. After that silence fell again. But presently a motor began to throb around the corner of the house and a big touring car, dusty and dirty, backed up to the curb before the door. The two boys opened their eyes with sighs and frowns and watched. A party of two men and two ladies emerged from the hotel. The man at the wheel of the car called to them: “See if you can find someone to bring that suitcase out, Jim,” he said. “It’s in front of the desk there.” Ned’s chair came down with a bang and he jumped to his feet. “Yes, sir; right away, sir!” he said briskly. In a moment he had dashed into the office and out again, bearing a big leather suitcase. Dan’s chair came down and he stared in bewilderment. “Where shall I put it, sir?” Ned was asking solicitously. “Stick it in back there, my boy. That’s it.” Ned deposited the bag, swung the tonneau door open and stood respectfully at attention while the party seated themselves. The man at the wheel put his hand into his pocket, selected a coin and handed it back. “Here you are, boy,” he said. Ned touched his forehead sketchily, “Thank you, sir!” The car bounded forward and Ned, grinning delightedly, danced up the steps. “I’ve made a quarter! I’ve made a quarter!” he chanted. CHAPTER XVI A DISSERTATION ON MUSHROOMS “You’re the craziest chap I ever saw,” laughed Dan. “Is it a good one?” Ned tried it with his teeth, tapped it on the edge of the railing and eyed it anxiously. “Perfectly good,” he replied finally. “It seems to be made of silver.” “Thought it might be a lead quarter,” said Dan. “Fever near, sir; fever near!” “Eh?” “I said fever near.” “What’s that?” “That’s a phrase of reassurance spoken in my new universal language.” “Your new _what_?” “Universal language,” replied Ned gravely, seating himself on the railing. “It’s away ahead of Esperanto, while as for Volapuk――why, Volapuk’s dead and buried. The beauty of my system――” “What do you call it?” Ned’s hesitation was infinitesimal, and he answered without the flicker of an eyelash. “Tookeranto. As I was saying, its greatest beauty is its simplicity. You merely change the first letters of your words; I think transpose is the word I should have used. For instance, I say to you, ‘That’s a pice shair of noes you have,’ and you understand me at once.” “The dickens I do!” Dan laughed. “You don’t? But you would get me if I told you you were pitting on the sorch of the Hashington’s Wead?”