“How do we know?” I said. “I suppose he heard some talk somewhere.” “Maybe he knows more than he said,” piped up Pee-wee; “it’s kind of mysterious. Maybe he’s a confederate of somebody, maybe. Maybe he had a partner hiding. I bet he knows a lot.” “Sure,” I said, “partners is his middle name.” “Knows a lot is good,” said Brent laughing. “I’d like to make a try for that,” Hervey said. “It would be some stunt.” “Are we going to take the first road to the left?” Brent asked. “Or are we going to call it off and go back to camp?” “Answered in the affirmative,” I shouted. After that nothing more was said about the accident and the tin box. I guess we all saw that Brent wanted us to drop the subject. Hervey was busy trying to swing up into the branches of trees as we passed through the outlet, so I guess he wasn’t thinking much about that business either. It’s nice and dim in the outlet because the trees reach all the way across it and in some places you can’t even see the sky. Two or three times we had to backwater so as to take Hervey in again where he was hanging from some tree or other. Once he hung upside down by his feet. One place we saw a muskrat swimming across. Now when you row through the outlet after a while you come to a road that branches away from the outlet to the left. That goes through Brookside. So we drew the boat up there (that’s where the girls told us to leave it) and started following that road. If it hadn’t been for our trying to have some fun with Pee-wee when we got to Brookside, I guess maybe this story would be nothing but nonsense from beginning to end. But it turned out to be something else beside nonsense—you’ll see. In Brookside Warde said, “We’ll ’phone to camp here and get it off our minds.” I said, “Sure, tell them not to expect us till they see us; maybe not even then.” “And I’ll get a soda at the same time,” Pee-wee said. “I’ll treat one fellow to soda because I’ve only got a quarter and a nickel and four pennies.” I said, “After paying for two sodas you’ll look like a sharpy.” “Do you mean to tell me I don’t treat girls?” he shouted. “Lots of times I treat girls! Sharpies never treat girls, that’s how you know them.” I said, “Oh, you’re a reckless little spender. The slot machines will land you in the poorhouse some day.” “High-step Harris,” Brent said. “That’s better than the one-step,” I said. Hervey said, “We can’t ’phone here anyway, the ’phone is on the right-hand side of the road. There are only two stores, and one’s a feed store——” “What kind of feed?” Pee-wee shouted. “Oats,” Brent said. “Wild oats, the kind you sow, running wild with thirty-four cents in your pocket. I suppose you’ll squander it on the first flapper you meet.” “I’ll squander it right here in the drug store,” the kid shouted. “And you needn’t go around telling people I don’t treat girls either.” “Oh, far be it from it,” I said; “only last week a girl told me you were a treat.”