His whereabouts are now a mystery and no reason can be ascribed to his disappearance. It is thought that he may have been the victim of foul play while on his journey home. A wealthy and public spirited citizen of Greendale, Mr. Horace E. Wade, whose namesake Private Chandler was, has offered the sum of one hundred dollars for any information leading to the discovery of young Chandler’s whereabouts. Boy scouts have often succeeded in discovering missing persons. Their large organization, covering as it does, the entire country and their predilection for long tramps and journeys afford them some of the best facilities for such quests. Mr. Wade has offered his reward after the futile efforts of the police in many large cities to locate the returned soldier. “And here’s his picture to go by,” Gaylong said; “good looking chap, huh? Here’s what it says underneath it, ‘_Private Horace E. Chandler from a photo taken the week before he sailed for France._’” Nobody said anything for a minute and Dorry, who was nearest to Brent Gaylong, leaned over and looked at the picture. “I’d like to read it over in a better light,” he said. Brent said, “Take it; it’s no use to us. It gave us a good hike, that’s all. We thought we might come back with the hundred. We had scout uniforms and everything all bought—in our minds. We had a sumptuous gold headed cane for Mr. Jennis. We had a meeting shack all furnished up. Oh, we were regular prosperous scouts for a couple of days—in our imaginations. I think I ought to have the badge for day dreaming, if there is one. I think I could get a job in a dime novel. Up to Elm Center and back again chasing a rainbow!” He was so funny about it that I didn’t know how disappointed he really was. He was kind of funny and serious at the same time. But I could see they were all disappointed. All of a sudden Harry Donnelle said, “What started you up to Elm Center near Kingston, when our wandering warrior lived away up near Plattsburg?” “Oh, yes,” Brent said; “I forgot the best part of it. Quite some time after we read that accursed article, little Willie here and I happened to drop in at a movie show in Newburgh—ten cents counting the war tax. Cheap but filling. There was a picture in the Pathe jigamerig of an aviator landing in the village of Elm Center near Kingston, New York. I had never heard of Elm Center before. But anyway, an aviator had to come down there and so Elm Center got on the screen. There were a lot of people standing around looking at the machine and little Willie wide-awake here, said to me, ‘Do you see that soldier in the film? The one leaning against the fence and kind of glancing this way? He’s the fellow whose picture was in the paper.’ I took a good squint at him and, by jingoes, it was! It was Horace E. Chandler. ‘Caught at last,’ I said.”