“That’s so,” said Hal. “I’d forgotten about that bet. I guess you’ll have to pay that wager to us, Tommy, and we’ll drink to Pete’s memory.” Allan, his heart thumping wildly, looked at the other fellows’ faces, but it was quite evident that the wild surmise which had come to him had not occurred to them. He pushed back his chair abruptly and went to the window. Was it possible? he asked himself. Surely, Pete would not have gone to such a length merely to win a bet! And yet--Pete was Pete; what another fellow would do was no criterion when it came to Pete’s conduct. Allan’s heart was racing and thumping now. The more he considered the affair in the light of Tommy’s remark the more plausible seemed the startling theory which had assailed him. He turned to blurt out his suspicions to the others, then hesitated. If he should prove to be wrong, he would regret charging Pete with such madness. Perhaps he had better keep his own counsel for a while longer. To you, respected reader, who have all along known, or at least suspected, the truth of the matter, it probably seems strange that Allan should not have instantly realized the hoax. I have no explanation to offer in his behalf. He was still in doubt when Fate, in the not uncommon semblance of a postman, came to his relief. When he answered the landlady’s tap on his door, he received a letter the mere sight of which set all his doubts at rest. The envelope was postmarked Hastings--Hastings is a small city eighteen miles down the river from Centerport--and the round, schoolboy writing was unmistakably Pete’s. Tommy and Hal glanced around when the door opened, but paid no attention while Allan tore open the envelope and rushed through the two pages of writing inside. They only awoke to the fact that something had happened when Allan, waving the sheet above his head, gave vent to a blood-curdling yell of joy that sent Two Spot scuttling out of Tommy’s arms and under the dresser. “What is it?” they cried in unison. Allan waved the letter again ecstatically. “It’s a letter from him!” “Him? Who?” “_Pete!_” To attempt to describe the subsequent confusion would be absurd. Only a wide-awake phonograph could do it. Two chairs were overturned, Tommy screeched, Hal roared, Allan yelled back. The letter waved in air. Then Tommy danced an impromptu jig and, being quite unconscious that he was doing it, did it with much grace. Unfortunately none noticed it. Hal was struggling for the letter. Allan was fighting to keep possession of it. Tommy danced on. Occasionally he shrieked. His shriek was not nearly so pleasant as his dancing. After many moments comparative quiet settled and three breathless fellows gathered at the window while Allan, holding the precious document in his hands, read aloud. This is what they heard, leaving out, for the sake of clearness, the frequent interpolations of the listeners: HASTINGS HOUSE, HASTINGS, _Dec. 7, 1903_.