Mr. Belding was not unmindful of his son's anxiety regarding the odd bank-note that Chet had taken over the counter in the jewelry store. Besides, Laura sat herself upon the arm of his big Morris chair after dinner that Monday evening, and said:

"You know, dear Pa, Chet is a pretty good boy. And fifty dollars is much more money than he can afford to lose--all in one bunch."

"Indeed?" said her father indignantly. "And how about me? With my expensive family, do you think I can afford to lose fifty dollars? And the boy is careless."

"I deny it," said Laura briskly.

"Chet! not careless?"

"Only thoughtless."

"What is the difference?"

"Academic, or moral?" demanded Mother Wit, looking at him slyly.

"Oh, well, it doesn't pay to split hairs with you," declared her father, pinching a warm cheek until it was rosier than ever. "But what's the big idea, as Chet himself would say?"

"Why, now, Pa Belding----"

"Out with it! What do you want me to do?"

"I--I thought if you'd make Chet pay only half of the fifty dollars, that perhaps you lost----"

"Well?" he growled, in apparent indignation still.

"Why, I would pay the other twenty-five!" burst out Laura hurriedly. "Only you must promise not to tell Chet."

"What do you mean? To pay half his fine?"

"Well, you don't need to halloo so about it, Pa dear," she pouted.

"I wouldn't let you!"

"Oh, yes you would. You know it is going to be awfully hard on Chet to take that money out of the bank to pay you."

"There, there!" said Mr. Belding gruffly. "We won't talk about it--yet. Perhaps we'll find the bank-note is all right."

But he said afterward to his wife that evening: "What are we going to do with such children, Mother? You can't punish one without hurting the other right to the quick."

"We have been blessed in our children, Henry," said Mrs. Belding proudly. "And--really--Chet should not be too much blamed."

"There, there!" exclaimed her husband in a disgusted tone of voice. "You're every whit as bad as Laura."

Mr. Monroe did not return to the bank for several days; and meanwhile other important and interesting things were happening. The three boys who seemed to have secret knowledge about the accident on Market Street refused to answer the questions of their girl friends as to the identity of the car that had run the victim down.

"You are just the meanest boys!" flared out Bobby Hargrew, as they all trooped down to Lake Luna to take almost the last look at the roped-off arena before the carnival would twinkle its lights that evening at six o'clock.

"I don't know, Bobby," drawled Chet. "I believe we really could be meaner if we tried."

"No you couldn't!" snapped Clara Hargrew with finality.

"Oh, girls!" gasped Laura suddenly, "tell me what this is coming up the hill? Or am I seeing something that you folks don't?"

"Gee!" exclaimed the slangy Bobby, forgetting her indignation with Chet and the other boys. "Is it? Can it be?"

"Pretty Sweet!" ejaculated Jess, beginning to laugh. "And he is in his forest green hunting suit. I call it his 'Robin Ridinghood' suit."

"It just matches him, all right," said Lance. "He's verdant green and so is the suit. And look how he is carrying that gun, will you?"

The gun was in its case, but the boy in question was carrying the shotgun in a most awkward manner. Without a doubt he was half afraid of it.

"And I bet he hasn't had a charge in it all the time he's been out. Who did he go with?" asked Chet.

"Some of the East Siders. They cater to him a lot, and you know," said Lance, with disgust, "tight as Purt is with money, if you flatter him you can pull his leg."

"Dear me!" murmured Laura, "it is not in your province to use such slang, Lance. Leave that to Chet and Bobby."

"Hey, Pretty!" Chet shouted to the very dandified lad, as he crossed the street toward them. "What luck, old top?"

Although when they had first seen him, Prettyman Sweet was undoubtedly footsore, he began to strut now and pride "fairly exuded from his countenance," as Jess whispered to her chum.

"Did you get any cottontails?" demanded Lance.

"Oh, a few--a few, muh boy," declared Pretty Sweet airily.

Then they saw that he had a game bag slung over his shoulder in true sportsman style.

"I did not suppose you would go out to shoot the poor, innocent little rabbits, Mr. Sweet," said Laura, with sober face but dancing eyes. "They have never done you any harm."

"I bet a real bad rabbit would make Purt run," muttered Bobby.

"Oh, Miss Belding!" said the school dandy. "You know I'm awf'ly keen on sport--awf'ly keen, doncher know. I just have to get a day now and then in the woods, when game is in season."

"He's as keen on it as the two Irishmen were, who went hunting for the first time," broke in Bobby. "When they sighted a bird sitting on a bush Meehan took very careful aim and prepared to fire. Said his friend, grabbing him by the arm:

"'Don't fire, Meehan! Shure an' yez haven't loaded yer gun.'

"'That's as it may be, me lad,' retorted Meehan, 'but fire I must. The bur-rd won't wait!'"

Prettyman Sweet was used to being laughed at, yet he flushed at the gibe.

"Never mind," he said. "I bring home the game, just the same."

"You 'bring home the bacon,' in other words," said Chet, approaching him. "Let's see the bunnies?"

Nothing loath, the overdressed boy opened the bag and displayed his plunder. He brought two big hares out of the bag by their ears and held them up with pride.

"Bet they were trapped," said Bobby in an undertone.

"They were not trapped!" cried Purt Sweet sharply. "See! That is where one was shot! And there is the other--see?"

"Jinks!" said Lance. "Both through the head. You never did it, Purt?"

"I did so!" cried the huntsman angrily. "I shot them both."

Chet was looking them over closely. He shook his head.

"They have been shot all right," he said. "And you shot them over there on Cavern Island?"

"I can prove it," said Purt haughtily.

"That's all right," said Chet thoughtfully. "You may have shot them--and on Cavern Island. But whose rabbits were they before you bought them?"

"What? I--Oh!"

Bobby and Jess began to giggle. Chet grinned as he added:

"Those are Belgian hares, not rabbits, Pretty. Somebody has put something over on you. Belgian hares don't run wild in the woods of Cavern Island--that is sure."

"Bet he shot them hanging up on a fence," snapped Short and Long, who thus far had said never a word to Prettyman Sweet.

"And I know the market to-day is full of Belgian hares," chuckled Chet. "Oh, Purt! you never could pull off anything like that on us in a hundred years."

"I don't care--I--I--"

The angry Purt snatched up his game bag and marched away.

"That he's been caught in the trick puts a crimp in him," chuckled Chet Belding.

"And that isn't all that ought to happen to him," muttered Short and Long, who seemed to have become suddenly very bitter against the dandified Sweet.

"Can it, Billy, can it," advised Lance. "Give a calf rope enough and he will hang himself."

"And maybe that fellow ought to be hung," was Short and Long's further comment.

"Why, Billy!" exclaimed Laura, "what ever do you mean?"

"Yes, Short and Long," said Jess. "Why the 'orrid hobservation about poor Purt?"

Perhaps Billy Long would have blurted out something, had not another incident taken place which so excited all the young people that they forgot Purt Sweet and his foibles.

The group had reached Lakeside Avenue, which overlooked many shore estates and some private docks. This was the residential end of Centerport, and the vicinity in summer was lovely. Now the outlook on Lake Luna's sparkling surface--frozen in a sheen of ice to the shore of Cavern Island in the middle of the lake--was wonderfully attractive.

At the foot of Nugent Street, which they now reached, the girls and boys from Central High heard suddenly a great shouting and peals of laughter from up the hill. Some snow still lay on the side of Nugent Street; and the hill was a glare of ice. Down the steep descent were coming three or four heavy sleds loaded with young folks. Many of them were girls and boys of Central High.

"Some coasting!" exclaimed Chet. "I had no idea it was so good. We ought to get our bob out, Lance."

"Oh, see, Laura!" murmured Jess. "There comes Janet Steele. She must have been canvassing for Red Cross members away over here. I wish we had time to do some of that work."

The Red Cross girl appeared from around a turn in the avenue, and the instant she spied her new friends she waved her gloved hand.

"Is that the girl who gave first-aid to the man on Market Street Saturday night?" asked Chet.

"Some little queen, isn't she?" rejoined Lance, with twinkling eyes.

"Oh," said Laura placidly, "you needn't think that you can get us girls jealous about Janet Steele. She is an awfully sweet girl."

"And she isn't little at all," put in Jess, tossing her head. "She is as husky as Eve Sitz."

Before they could say more, or further hail the Red Cross girl, there was a crash and terrific rattling around the turn of the avenue. The next instant a horse appeared, madly galloping along the roadway, and drawing the shattered remains of a grocery wagon after him.

The maddened beast would, so it seemed, cross the foot of Nugent Street just as the bobsleds shot down to that point. Across the avenue was a steep bank against which the sleds were easily halted. But they could not be stopped before they crossed Lakeside Avenue!

CHAPTER VIII