Dick sat down on a pile of debris. From his pocket he took a thin, red book, and commenced writing in it by the light of the embers of the ruined society house. Presently he tore out a slip of paper and handed it to Dutton. "What--what's this?" stammered the treasurer of the Sacred Pig. "Why--why--Hamilton!" "What is it?" demanded a score of voices, as the cadets crowded up. "It's a check--a check," stammered Dutton, as he saw the figures which Dick had written in, and noted that they occupied four places. "It's a check!" "To rebuild the society house of the Sacred Pig," said our hero simply. "But I--I thought you lost all your money, Hamilton," said Dutton. "I thought so, too," replied Dick. "So did Uncle Ezra, but I cabled to dad, and it's all a mistake. He took all our funds from the bank that failed before he went abroad. We didn't lose a cent." "Then you're a millionaire yet, aren't you?" asked Dutton. "I'm--I'm afraid so," answered Dick. There was silence for a moment, and then the cadets seemed to understand what Dick had done. They looked at the piece of paper fluttering in Dutton's hand. It meant that they could have a new and better headquarters for their society. "Three cheers for Dick Hamilton!" called several, and Dick's ears rang to the sweetest music he had ever heard. They all wanted to shake hands with him at once, and they made so much noise that Colonel Masterly sent one of the teachers out to see if the fire had started afresh. "It's only the cadets cheering Mr. Hamilton, sir," replied the instructor, when he returned. "Hum! He's getting to be quite popular," said the colonel, with a smile, for he understood about Dick's handicap. And there was abundant evidence of his popularity a little later on, for they insisted on carrying Dick on their shoulders to the saluting cannon, where all important events were celebrated, and there they did a sort of war dance about him. Dick would have been glad to escape, but they would not let him. "We don't want your money, honey, we want you!" they sang. And Dick knew that they spoke the truth. He had fulfilled another condition of his mother's will, and become popular in spite of his wealth, though for a time he feared this would never happen. He had thought of a plan to pretend that he had suddenly grown poor, but Uncle Ezra's mistake made this unnecessary. "I don't know whether it's more fun to be rich or poor," thought Dick, as he went to bed that night. But he had other adventures, in which his great wealth played a part, and those of you who care to follow Dick Hamilton's fortunes further may read of them in the next volume of this series, to be called: "Dick Hamilton's Steam Yacht; or, A Young Millionaire and the Kidnappers." "Well, how are you feeling this morning, Toots--I mean Corporal?" asked Dick, about a week later, when the janitor was able to leave the hospital.