"That sounds good. Wish I had something like that to occupy me this summer. I hope you have luck." "Thanks. I haven't the least idea where I'm to go, or how. But dad will explain when I get home." "Come on, now, everybody! We're going to sing 'Farewell to Old Kentfield'!" cried Ed Watson. "Everybody!" The cadets leaped to their feet, and soon the strains of the grand old song welled out of the banquet hall. Grit, the bulldog was hoisted to a place of honor on two chairs, beside Dick, and he looked on as if he understood it all. The banquet was nearing an end, and at last, with a clasping of hands around the tables, and a rendering of another verse of the song, while cheers for Dick were mingled with the strains, the affair came to a close. "What's your hurry?" asked Paul, as Dick walked toward his room in the barrack building. "I'm going to pack up to-night, and take the first train for home in the morning. I'm anxious to find out what dad wants of me." "That's so; you're going off to trail a forty-second grand-aunt, or something like that. Well, I may see you this summer," and the two friends shook hands. The next morning, after a prolonged series of farewells, Dick and his bulldog took a train for Hamilton Comers, a fair-sized town in one of our middle western states. "I wonder where dad's quest will lead me?" mused Dick, as the train speeded him homeward. Little did he realize what perils were to follow his search for the missing relatives. CHAPTER III DICK'S STEAM YACHT Entering the front hall of his home, some hours later, with Grit leaping joyfully about at his heels, Dick was greeted by Gibbs, the butler, with a warmth warranted by many years of service in the Hamilton family. "Is my father at home, Gibbs?" asked Dick. "He's in the library, Mr. Dick. Your uncle is with him." "My uncle? You mean----?" "Mr. Larabee," finished the butler. "Oh!" exclaimed Dick, regretfully. "Uncle Ezra here!" he murmured. "I wonder what's wrong at Dankville? Or, maybe there's some new plan afoot, and that I have, after all, to go and live with him." There was dismay on Dick's face. For Uncle Ezra Larabee was not a very pleasant individual. He was quite wealthy, but he did not enjoy his money. He had a fine place at Dankville, a village about a hundred miles from Hamilton Corners, but the house, which was gloomy in itself, was hidden in the midst of a grove of dark fir trees, that made it more gloomy than ever. Inside scarcely a room was open to the sunlight, and once, when on his trial-visit, Dick had opened the parlor to look at some pictures, his Aunt Samanthy exclaimed in horror that the apartment was never used save for funerals.