"There's one sure thing about it," Lance Darby said to Laura when she told him of the way in which Miss Carrington had tried to interfere with the girls' choice of the play, "she cannot butt into the Ice Carnival arrangements. Nobody but your Mrs. Case and our Mr. Haskins has anything to say about the Carnival Committee's arrangements."

"Oh! Indeed?" laughed Laura. "There you are mistaken about the far-reaching influence of our Miss Carrington."

"What do you mean?"

"You forget that our share of the Carnival is under the jurisdiction of the Girls Branch League, and in the constitution and by-laws of that association it is stated that none of us girls can take part in any exhibition without the consent of our teachers, and without, indeed, having a certain standing in all branches of study. Miss Carrington can get her word in right there."

"Wow, wow! That's so, I presume," admitted Lance.

"But we have gone so far now," said Laura complacently, "that I don't think even Bobby will be refused permission to join in the festivities--and Bobby is a splendid little skater, Lance."

"Bobby is all right," agreed the youth. "But here comes old Chet--and his face is as long as the moral law. He is still worried about that fifty dollars he may have to dig down into his jeans for--if your father sticks to what he said he'd do."

Chetwood had a cheerful word, however, despite his serious aspect.

"Have you seen the ice, Lance?" he demanded, brightening up.

"Not to-day, old boy."

"It's scrumptious--just!" exclaimed the big fellow. "They have been shaving it, and have got it all roped off."

"Better have somebody watch it, too, or the kids from downtown will get in there and cut it all up. Just like 'em," growled Lance.

"Don't fret. Old Godey is on guard. Trust him to keep the kids off the track," said Chet. "Is father at home, Laura?"

"He's just come in," said his sister. "Has he found out about that bank-note yet?"

"That is what I wanted to know," said the worried Chet. "I've been over to the hospital this afternoon--before I went down to the lake shore. That, chap who was hurt is off his nanny----"

"Chet! Don't let mother hear you," begged Laura, yet laughing.

"I wouldn't want the mater to be shocked," admitted Chet. "But that is exactly what is the trouble with that man who gave me the phony bill. The doctor told me the crack he got on the head had injured his brain."

"The poor man!" sighed his sister.

"What about 'poor me'?" demanded Chet indignantly. "And they say he carried a roll of brand new bills big enough to choke a cow! The doctor says he thinks the money is good, too. But he passed that hundred-dollar note on me----"

"If it is a hundred," interjected Lance.

"Now you said a forkful," grumbled Chet, shaking his head. "Let's go in and see what father has to say about it. He was going to see Mr. Monroe at the First National. They say Mr. Monroe knows all about money--knew the fellow who invented it, personally, I guess."

The young folks found Mr. Belding in the library, and he welcomed them with his customary smile when the three came in.

"The bank-note?" he repeated. "I left it for Mr. Monroe to look at. He was out of town. But he will tell me when he returns--if he knows about it. It is a curious thing. And I hope it will teach you a lesson, Chetwood."

"Sure!" grumbled Chet, "Of course, there is nothing so important in this world as learning lessons. Little thing about me being nicked fifty dollars isn't considered."

His father laughed at his rueful countenance. "Well, Son, I can't offer you much sympathy. Perhaps the Treasury Department will make it right. And how about that man who gave it to you? He can't get far with a broken leg."

"He's gone far enough already," declared Chet. "They say he has lost his memory."

"What's that?" cried Mr. Belding.

"Looks fishy, doesn't it?" said Lance. "Lots of folks who owe money lose their memories."

"No," said Chet, shaking his head. "This chap really got a hard bang on the head, and the doctors say he may never remember who he is."

"Lost his identity?" demanded Mr. Belding.

"Completely. At least, he doesn't know his name or where he came from. He remembers a part of his life, they say, for he seems to think he has been in Alaska. Asked the nurse, in fact, how long Sitka had had such a hospital as this. Thought he was in Sitka, you see."

"Why, isn't it strange?" Laura said. "The poor fellow!"

"He's not poor, I tell you," said the literal Chet.

"He's got a lot of money. But not a card, or a mark about him--not even on his clothes--to tell who he is."

"How about his hat?" questioned Lance. "And his suit? The labels, I mean."

"The hat was brand new," said Chet, "and was bought right here in Centerport. Oh, the hospital folks have been trying through the police to find out something about him. Nothing doing, they say."

"Why," said Mr. Belding thoughtfully, "there must be some way of discovering who the unfortunate is, even if he cannot remember himself."

"Who do you mean, Pa, by 'the unfortunate'?" demanded his son. "I should think I was the unfortunate. Especially if that bank-note is phony."

"But you did not get a broken leg--and a broken head--out of it," his father said dryly.

"That's all right," muttered Chet "But I am likely to have a broken pocketbook, all right all right!"

CHAPTER VII