“Well, I don’t know but what you’re right,” I added half-disgustedly. “We’ll go up there,” said Tom, intent upon his breakneck driving, “and we’ll camp right in old Buck’s cabin; I can get permission from the Interstate Park bunch, all right. We won’t have to say what we’re there for. We’ll have the whole summer to hunt.” “How about Temple Camp?” I asked him. “I can get leave all right,” he shot at me. “And what are you going to do with the--the _treasure_--when you get it, if I may ask?” “We’re going to turn it over to June Sanderson,” said Tom. “Then we’re going to marry her and live happily forever after,” said Brent. “With the money from the Pathé News I’m going to get my laundry.” I said, “Tom, if you ask for leave of absence from Temple Camp to spend the summer in such a fool enterprise you put yourself on a level with freaks and fanatics the country over. You’ll have every boy scout up in that place laughing at you----” “Let ’em laugh,” said Tom decisively. “Let me ask you,” I continued, “did you ever know of any one finding hidden treasure? Did you ever know any one that knew any one that ever heard of any one who was personally acquainted with anybody that ever really found any hidden treasure--did you?” Brent said, “That’s rather a long question; let me think a minute.” “If you could just name me one person,” I said. “Why, there was a young fellow, a millionaire’s son, who fitted up a yacht and went down off the coast of South America fishing for a sunken Spanish galleon. He ended in an insane asylum. There was a man in Massachusetts who had some inside dope on where Captain Kidd bunked some bars of gold and stuff--Baxter, his name was. They wouldn’t take him for service overseas because he was mentally deficient.” “Thanks muchly,” said Tom. “You don’t have to be connected with this.” “Heaven forbid,” I said. “If it’s a question of reason and common sense----”’ he began. “Will you _please_ drive a little slower?” I begged. “If it’s a question of reason and common sense,” he continued, “where _is_ the money if it isn’t somewhere up there? You think the game wardens cracked Munk or Mink, or whatever his name was, on the head and got it somehow. I don’t believe that; I say those men were on the level--I know the type. All right, then, _you_ say Mink didn’t pull a game on his partner--_you_ know that type. Well, then, Mink left the money _somewhere_, didn’t he? Do you see anything so ridiculous about that? Where is it?” “I was wondering,” Brent said; “of course, this is only a suggestion----” “That’s what I want--suggestions,” said Tom. “I was wondering if the rattlesnakes could have eaten it. No?” “Tom,” I said, “I’m going to ask you seriously, now before we get to Bridgeboro, don’t fly out of your senses and go hunting for treasure--that’s old stuff. I wouldn’t even put it in a story. The way to get money is to earn it----” “Now you’re making a noise like a papa,” he said.