Supper was a disappointment as all the meals had been. Devlin had not again been so generous as to surprise them with any more of the lunchroom delicacies such as he had brought in on that Sunday night. Meal after meal was the same, a monotony of canned beans, bacon and crackers. Skippy had no appetite that night. The smell of bacon made him sick and he felt that never again in his life would he be able to eat it. Nickie moped dejectedly over his plate and when he did put anything to his mouth he washed it down quickly with coffee as if he dared not taste it. He looked at Skippy and shook his head. "If there's two more weeks like this, kid, you'll need your strength--see. I'm sick, too, but I feel I gotta eat no matter what, so I wash every mouthful down with this rotten coffee. No matter how rotten coffee is, it's better'n tastin' them blamed beans and bacon." Skippy was trying out this sound advice when they heard the familiar sound of a car chugging into the clearing. Nickie put down his coffee cup with a bang and before either one of them could make any comment, they heard Devlin rushing out of his room and down the stairway. He came loping into the kitchen muttering, "Frost--it's Frost," and rushed to one of the windows and looked out. The boys were at the other window in a second and though the evening shadows were lengthening, they could see the big, dark car rolling into the barn. They watched as Frost came out with his short, hopping stride, and they heard Devlin mumble deep in his throat. The man made no attempt to go near the door but stood back against the wall and waited. The boys went back to the table and made a pretense of drinking their coffee. All the time, however, they too were waiting and they listened intently as Frost's key clinked against the metal door. Abruptly his leathern-looking face appeared in the doorway wreathed in smiles. "Howdy!" he was saying breezily. "How----" He caught the insane glint in Devlin's eyes and stood suddenly still. "Say, you don't look glad to see me, boss!" "Did you expect me to?" Devlin's voice boomed through the room. Frost flushed up to the roots of his colorless hair. His small, shifty eyes strayed toward the boys, then back to Devlin again. "Oh, if you feel that way about it--I was thinkin' I was helpin' you out--givin' you a hand...." "Since when did I ask you to do my thinking for me, eh? Since when did you give me a hand without being told to?" There was a ring in Devlin's voice that made his listeners quiver when he added, "Come upstairs--I've got plenty to say to you!" The boys had never had any doubt that Devlin was a man of his word. Now they were learning that he went far beyond that and gave no quarter to anyone who had taken too much for granted at his expense. And from the terrible wrath with which Devlin shook the house, Frost must have been aware that he had committed the unforgivable sin in the eyes of his nefarious employer.