“So do I,” said Joe morosely. “They’ll just about wreck the camp! And use up all our things too.” Philip agreed gloomily. “Potatoes and coffee and everything! If we could only get out there ahead of them――” “We can’t.” Silence fell. Presently Philip arose and quietly returned the violin to its case and relegated the music stand to the closet. Joe watched him anxiously. He had firm faith in Philip’s wit and wisdom, but it seemed that here was a problem too difficult for the chum’s solving, and Joe’s hope languished. Outside, the evening shadows were lengthening fast. The strident whistling of the carroty-haired youth who delivered the evening paper grew near and there was a gentle thud as the damp copy of the _Evening Star_ landed against the front door below. “There’s the paper,” murmured Joe dejectedly. “Get it if you like,” said Philip in abstracted tones. He had seated himself again, hands in pockets and his long legs stuck out across the faded ingrain art-square. Joe murmured indifference to the _Star_ and Philip continued to stare at the floor. Five o’clock struck from the steeple of the Presbyterian Church and Joe instinctively listened for the screech of the eastbound express as it reached the trestle. But before it came Philip lifted his head suddenly and exploded a question in the silence. “What time does it get dark?” he demanded. “Dark? Why, about seven, I guess,” replied Joe, startled. “Think they’ll have their supper before that?” “I don’t know. Why? If they get out there by five――” “They won’t,” interrupted the other decisively. “It’s a mile and a half. Suppose they got the crowd rounded up and bought their things in half an hour. They’d get started about a quarter to five. Walking, the way they would, they’d take a good half hour to get there. Then they’d have to get into the cabin, and that would take them five or maybe ten minutes longer. Well, suppose they began to prepare supper right off, which they wouldn’t, it would take them another half hour to make the fire and peel the onions and all that, wouldn’t it?” “Why, sure,” agreed Joe. “More than a half hour. They’d make Charley and Dill do the work, and they’re as slow as snails. What are you getting at, though?” “I’m trying to figure out when they’d have that supper ready to eat. I don’t believe it would be ready much before seven.” “Maybe not, but as I’m not going to eat it, it doesn’t mean much in my life.” “Wouldn’t you eat some of it if you had a chance?” asked Philip, chuckling. “With that gang of thugs?” retorted the other indignantly. “I would not!” “Suppose they weren’t there, though?” suggested Philip gently. “Weren’t there! Say, you’ve got a scheme! What’s it?” Philip smiled. “Maybe I have,” he answered. “See what you think of it.” CHAPTER IV GHOSTS