The fact that Fred Holton had turned his farm over to Kirkwood was public property now; and people were saying that it was fine of Amzi to give Fred employment. The way in which the Holtons crossed and recrossed the trail of the Montgomerys had been the subject of much discussion. But the situation was clearing in so far as the Holtons were concerned. William had removed to Chicago to begin life anew; and Jack had vanished utterly, the day following the collapse of the panic. Charles, too, had disappeared. It was believed that Kirkwood had recovered enough from Samuel's associates in the construction company to balance the deficiencies occasioned by fraudulent construction and that he was not particularly interested in Charles's whereabouts. "How about taking a look at the farm?" asked Amzi one Saturday afternoon. "Fred's planting corn and we'll see how the country looks." Lois and Phil agreed that this was a capital idea and they set off in high spirits. As they approached the farm, Jack Whittlesey, the sheriff, passed on horseback. "Looks bad for somebody," said Phil. "What does?" asked Amzi. "When Jack goes out on his horse, it's a sign somebody's going to jail." "Only serving subpoenas, I reckon," said Amzi. They espied Fred driving a corn-planter across a long level field, and stopped the car. He ran to the fence to talk to them, and they all alighted. It was a warm afternoon and he mopped his face with a big bandanna as he talked to them. He rested his arms on the top rail of the fence, playing with his cap--not the disreputable old coonskin with which Phil had become familiar that winter, but the regular Madison College cap with a scarlet "M" above the visor. "In the words of the poet," began Phil, "where did you get that hat?" "This? Oh, the day of the Main Street rumpus I lost mine and one of the boys lent me his. I meant to get him another, but I haven't been to town since. And besides, I've forgotten his name." "That's George Nesbit's cap," Phil answered, after eyeing it critically. "I know because it's an old style nobody else wore this year. George lives at the Phi Gam house, if you care for his address." "I hope you don't know them all as well as that, Phil," remarked Lois. "She does," chuckled Amzi; "she does, indeed."