Midway of the journey the heavy board sign had been transferred from its hiding-place under Hal’s rain-coat to the possession of two of the younger boys. Even to them it had grown increasingly substantial, and they were not loath now to relieve themselves of their burden. After careful inspection of the gate-post it was the consensus of opinion that there was but one place on it where the sign could be conspicuously and safely fastened, and that was at the moulding near the top of the post. And to hold it in place a piece of stout twine of sufficient length to pass across the face of the board and be tied behind the iron ornament at the summit was absolutely necessary. But the twine was immediately forthcoming. There was scarcely a boy in the company who had not that necessary equipment in one or another of his pockets. And the combined supply of the group, doubled and twisted and knotted, left nothing in the way of fastening material to be desired. So the puppy sign was hoisted into place, and two boys, at the risk of tumbling and breaking their necks, anchored it securely to the stone coping and the iron ornaments of Benjamin Barriscale’s massive gate-post. But the incident was not yet quite closed. Before the mischief-makers were ready to turn their faces toward the street Slicker bethought himself of a supplementary task. “Who’s got some black crayon?” he asked of the company. No one appeared to have black crayon, but Little Dusty was able to produce a stub of a carpenter’s pencil which he had somewhere acquired, and he turned it over to the questioner. “That’s the goods,” said Slicker. “Now hoist me up again.” Supported on the shoulders of two of his comrades, and steadying himself with his left hand, he scrawled on the lower face of the board, in large black letters: “Buy young Ben. He’s the only puppy left.” When he had been carefully lowered to the sidewalk Slicker told his inquiring companions what he had written. “That was a mistake!” exclaimed Hal. “They’ll have it in for us now, sure!” “Let ’em,” replied Slicker. “But you don’t know what you’ll be up against.” “Maybe they’ll tell me if I ask ’em,” responded Slicker lightly. Then Little Dusty spoke up. “I hope Ben sees it himself,” said Dusty. “He’ll know what some boys thinks of him.” “And we ain’t the only ones that think that way, either,” added another member of the group. “You bet we ain’t!” exclaimed still another. “I know lots o’ fellows that’s got no use for him at all.” It was very true that Benjamin Barriscale, Jr., was not especially popular with boys of his age. He was the only son of the wealthiest man in the city; he appreciated that fact, and was self-important accordingly. He was not offensively aristocratic or domineering, but he was unsocial, undemocratic, uncompanionable. He had his own group of friends, boys who followed him and flattered him, but he never seemed to inspire a spirit of true comradeship in any one.