“Again you’ve guessed it,” said the bronzed man, who seemed to be taking the smash-up as calmly as if high-priced cars grew on bushes for anybody to pick. “We were driving through from Chicago to New York, and we came around this way to spend a few hours with Dick before he starts for home.” Purdick had stood aside while this bit of talk was going on, and he was wondering who the pretty――though somewhat pudgy――little girl was. She had apparently forgotten her cut arm and was standing on the creek bank looking down at the smashed auto. Purdick moved a little nearer because he was afraid the bank would cave in and let her down. “That bank is pretty soft,” he cautioned. “I wouldn’t go too near the edge if I were you.” She turned and looked him over appraisingly. “What a funny little green cap,” she commented. “That’s Freshman, isn’t it? Are you a Sheddon Freshman?” Purdick nodded. “For a few days longer――until the grade markings are handed out.” “I’ve got a brother in the Freshman class. I wonder if you know him. I’m Ruth McKnight.” “Know Ollie McKnight? I should say I do! He’s one of the best friends I’ve had this year.” “That’s nice,” said the girl. “I guess you’re the ‘Purdy’ he’s been writing about in his letters. You’re the Red-Wagon boy.” Purdick hadn’t the slightest idea what she meant, but he was handsomely forgetting the McKnight millions when he said: “I’m anything Ollie wants to call me.” That was all there was time for at the moment. Larry had been down in the wreck getting one of the seat cushions for the lady to sit on while she waited, and as he was climbing out, another auto came along headed townward. The farmer driving it stopped on the farther edge of things and called across to the “survivors” of the wreck. “Hello, neighbors! Trouble to burn, h’ain’t ye? Anybody hurt?” “Nothing serious,” said Dick’s uncle-by-marriage. “Luck was with us.” “But ye can’t git nowhere without your wagon. Wait till I drive round by t’other bridge and I’ll give ye a lift to town,” and he turned his car and started back to make the detour. While they waited, Larry and Purdick pulled broken timbers out of the wrecked bridge and built warning road barriers on each side of the creek. In a short time the kindly farmer drove up and the shipwrecked ones were given places in his car. He told Larry and Dick they were welcome to standing-room on the running boards, but they thanked him and said they’d walk――that they were walking, anyway. “Did you hear what that girl was telling me?” Purdick asked, after Dick’s uncle had told them both to be sure and look him up at the hotel in town, and the auto had sped away up the hill. Larry shook his head. “No; I was talking to Mr. Starbuck.”