Kind friends they were, and Bar felt a curious glow at his heart twenty times before he and Val got away, as he found how well and thoughtfully his various wants had been foreseen and provided for. “He’ll spend the whole of that thousand dollars,” said Bar to himself, “before he gets through with me. Well, I’ll pay him, somehow, some day. Meantime I’ll be a right good friend to Val. He’s a tip-top sort of a fellow, too.” As for Val, that young gentleman could hardly find words to tell his mother all his satisfaction with his wonderful new chum. “He knows everything but books, mother,” he said, “and you couldn’t get him to do a mean thing. I’m ever so glad he’s going with me.” Then there came a leave-taking, which made Bar sick with the thought of what a wonderful thing it is to have a live father and mother. Then there followed an all-night ride, by rail, then a morning change of cars, and then a stage that took the two schoolboys to Ogleport from a direction opposite to that by which George Brayton had reached the same destination. The “stage” was a long-bodied, flat-topped, four seated vehicle, that, in that warm weather, was left open to the dust and surrounding scenery on all sides. The boys had the back seat, wide enough for three, and immediately in front of them was a pair of decently well-dressed, middle-aged men, who got in at one of the villages through which they passed. Neither of these gentry seemed to need more than a glance at Bar and Val to fix their identity as “Academy boys,” and they talked away unreservedly. “No,” said one, the sharper and harder-faced of the two, “I ain’t goin’ straight through. Got to stop at Ogleport and make sure of Puff Evans’s boat.” “What do you want of a boat?” asked his companion. “Why, you know I bought in the Peters’s place, up at the Rodney end of the lake, and I’m going to move in this week. There’s a good boat-house but no boat. Ain’t any good one around, that I know of, except Puff’s, so I laid for that.” “I know, but then he wouldn’t sell it for any money. Made it himself, and it’s worth fifty or sixty.” “Guess likely, but it won’t cost me that. You see, Puff goes on sprees every few months, and he’s awful kerless about his tavern bills. So I found one up in Rodney, bought it for most nothing, sued and got judgment on it, and levied on the boat.” “What’s the judgment?” “Costs and all, fifteen dollars. Cost me about five, and I’m willing to go five more. That’ll make the boat net me ten dollars.” “Cheap enough. But s’pose Puff pays up?” “Nobody’ll trust him with that much money. Besides, I can get another squeeze on him, if he should. I’m bound to have that boat. The stage’ll get in just about half an hour before the time. It’ll be down at Runner’s tavern and I can catch a ride home, or go up on the night stage.”