Dick's room was over an extension to the main part of the house, and was fitted up like the "den" of any other lad, whether he has a million dollars to his credit, or only one. There were various trophies, some swords and guns, Indian relics, odds and ends of no earthly use to any one but a boy, and a few pictures. Yet, everything in it meant something to Dick, and, after all, that is the real way to decorate a "den." Mr. Larabee, the next day, completed his preparations for returning to The Firs, and Dick began to pack for his trip to New York. He offered to drive his uncle to the railroad station in his auto runabout, but Mr. Larabee did not trust autos. "Besides," he added, "you might run over somebody, and then they'd bring a suit for damages, and I'd be liable for part of it, on account of being in the car with you. No, I'll walk and save the street-car fare." "I'll take all responsibility for the damage," promised Dick, but his uncle would not agree to an auto trip, and walked. As Mr. Larabee said good-by to his brother-in-law and nephew, he murmured to himself: "I certainly must put my plan into operation. That boy Richard has absolutely no idea of the value of money. I must save him from himself and his father. I certainly must." Uncle Ezra was very thoughtful on his way home that day. Riding in the train he worked out the details of a plot that was destined to have a very important effect on Dick's life. "It's a little risky," thought Mr. Larabee, as the train neared Dankville station, "and it's going to cost me considerable, but I can get it back from the Hamilton fortune in the end, and I can charge interest on whatever I spend. It's in a good cause, and I'll do it, for I must teach Richard the value of a dollar!" Mr. Larabee reached home, and was welcomed by his wife, who carefully watched him to see that he wiped his feet as he entered the house. He told of his visit to his brother-in-law's house, and denounced Mr. Hamilton's action in letting Dick have a steam yacht. Then, after a frugal meal, the lights were put out, to save kerosene oil, and the gloomy house of The Firs was shrouded in darkness. But, somehow, Uncle Ezra Larabee couldn't sleep. He tossed from side to side in the bed, and, now and then, he muttered to himself: "I'll do it! I vum I'll do it! It's the only way." His wife noted his restlessness. "What's the matter, Ezra?" she asked. "Can't you sleep? Are you sick?" "Nope. I'm all right." But Mr. Larabee wasn't. Sleep would not come to him. He was busy thinking of many things, but chief of all was a plan he had evolved to save Dick Hamilton from what the old man thought was a trip that would "waste" much money. "I've got to do it," murmured Uncle Ezra to the darkness all about him. "It may not be accordin' to strict law, but it's justice. I've got to do it," and he turned wearily from one side of the bed to the other as he worked out the details of his plot.