"Then your last idea that Gregory Holmes is the missing young man must vanish now, my dear Mr. Hibbert," smiled Mr. Colquitt. "I'm vanquished," confessed Alonzo Hibbert, with a sigh. "I'm no good at anything. I wouldn't even make a detective." "I must leave you now," suggested Mr. Colquitt, rising. "I must wire to---er---to my client. Poor man, he will be greatly disappointed." As the detective rose and passed outside Hazelton leaned over to murmur to young Holmes: "Don't you wish it had turned out that you were the million-dollar kid?" "Not if I had to give up my father and mother," Greg replied, with great promptness. "I seem to be a fool at everything," sighed Alonzo Hibbert in disgust. "No; I would say, sir," suggested Tom Reade, "that you made the mistake of proceeding on one sign, instead of looking for all three." "Have another ice!" urged Mr. Hibbert, brightening at once. "You have set me straight. I wasn't a fool, after all---merely too swift" But the boys shook their heads as they murmured their thanks. So they were about to rise when a voice called cheerily behind them: "Stay where you are, fellows. We'll have an ice cream all around." "Dick!" cried five eager voices at once, as Prescott came smilingly to join them. Then their eyes all framed the same question, which their lips refused to utter. "Did you sell the canoe?" As Dick glanced inquiringly at young Mr. Hibbert, Dave Darrin presented him. Dick also learned that Hibbert had been a willing host to five of the chums. "Now, you'll turn about and eat an ice cream with us, won't you, Mr. Hibbert?" urged young Prescott. This the young man consented to do, though, as soon as the dainty had been disposed of, he begged to be excused that he might go and have further talk with Tom Colquitt. "You sold the canoe, I think, Dick?" said Tom, as soon as their late host had left them. "Yes," beamed their leader. "You might tell us what you got for it," urged Danny Grin. "Guess," hinted Dick. "Fifty," said Dave promptly. "He said he wouldn't take less than ninety," retorted Hazelton. "Ninety dollars," guessed Tom. "Fellows," laughed Dick, "at one time on the train I was so downhearted and glum over the chances of a trade that I believe I would have jumped at fifty dollars. Then I remembered my promise not to take less than ninety dollars. With that I soared to a hundred dollars, then down, by degrees, to seventy. But my promise pulled me back to ninety." "It wasn't exactly a promise," Dave broke in. "Anyway, Dick, it wasn't the kind of promise that had to be kept."