The next few days were ones of great enjoyment for the young canoeists. Their fondest dreams of life among the Thousand Islands were realized; for bathing, boating, fishing, and occasionally some scrub games of baseball, with access to the really fine library of the lodge, served to occupy their time.

Hoki still acted in the capacity of cook, preferring to serve the boys in this way as long as they should remain at the lodge. The matter of Mr. Gray’s double identity had been explained to the Jap, and he had at last reversed his opinion of his former master; he now stood in fear of him no longer. Mr. Gray’s deception of Hoki had only been a part of his well-devised plan to lose his real identity completely.

One day in the early part of August Stanwood Gray arrived in his motor-boat, his face wreathed in smiles. He had succeeded in winding up the case of the smugglers, he said, and the matter was now at rest until their trial came up at the fall term of court.

“I am going to put in three weeks of solid rest,” he said, “before going to another part of the country to look into an affair of an entirely different nature. I have been a long time on the case of the smugglers, but the final result entirely justified my judgment in the matter. You boys were of great assistance, and I am glad to be able to present you each with a little token of the government’s appreciation.”

He handed each of the boys a personal letter from the chief of the United States secret service, thanking them warmly for the part they had played in the breaking up of the smugglers. To say the boys were delighted would be expressing it mildly indeed.

A few days after Mr. Gray’s arrival the boys took their leave, camping one night on the island to the south, and sleeping in the open, then paddling on to the New York shore.

At Clayton they took a train for their homes, Bert Creighton going back to Lake George, the Comrades to Mortonville, and Truem and Pod to Bayville, where they would spend the few remaining days of their vacation. Hoki, of course went with the Comrades. All of the boys looked eagerly forward to another meeting at Winton in September.

This was the first time the Comrades had seen their folks since going to Stockdale Preparatory School the previous fall, and the welcome given them, not only by relatives, but friends, as well, was a royal one. Hoki’s reception was also a warm one, and during his stay he was considerable of a curiosity to the villagers.

Tom’s mother, since the death of his father, was living at the house of a relative, and here Tom took his meals, making his headquarters at other times in the old home where he had an attic fitted up in a similar fashion to those of Chot and Fleet. The house had been rented by one of Mr. Duncan’s employes, who generously accorded Tom full privilege to do as he pleased. The attic had remained practically undisturbed, and Tom found great pleasure in rummaging among his books and mechanical contrivances.

The Comrades’ trunks had been sent home before they left Winton, together with Tom’s phonograph and Chot’s miniature windmill, on both of which inventions the boys expected to eventually realize great returns. Considerable remained on each to put them in shape for a first class marketable commodity, and during the days they were idling away their time they undertook to perfect them.

Tom was working faithfully one day when the private telephone which connected his attic with those of Chot and Fleet, rang loudly.

“Hello!” cried Tom, taking down the receiver.

“This is Chot.”

“Oh, hello, Chot!”

“Hello! Hello!” Fleet broke in at this instant.

“Hello, yourself,” returned Chot. “Listen fellows, I want you to come over here immediately. I want your advice on something of great importance.”

“Look for us,” said both Tom and Fleet, and hanging up their receivers, both boys hurried in the direction of the Duncan home.

“What is it?” cried Fleet, out of breath, he being the first to arrive.

“Curb your impatience till Tom gets here,” Chot replied.

Tom arrived about a minute after Fleet, his face plainly expressing his curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“That’s what I want to find out,” said Chot. “I have just received a letter from Luther Pendleton.”

“Well, what does he want this time?” growled Tom.

“More money, of course. Listen to what he says:

“‘Dear Chot:

No doubt you will be surprised to hear from me after this long silence, but I assure you that the reason I have not written is because I have had no good news for you regarding the mine. The money you advanced me at Stockdale was not sufficient to accomplish the result we desired, and unless more funds can be raised for the same purpose, I can do nothing. I dislike to ask another favor, but you will understand the situation thoroughly. I haven’t been able to interest capital in the proposition, as yet, but I still have great hopes if I can have funds to carry out my plans. It will take another thousand dollars at least—perhaps more—but I will try and make out with that sum.

Trusting you will give this your immediate attention, I am your friend, etc!’

“Now what do you think of that, fellows?”

“I think what I’ve always thought,” said Tom. “Luther Pendleton is a rascal, and he’s going to get his just deserts some of these fine days.”

“Admitting that to be true,” said Chot, “the most important question is, should we let go of the proposition entirely, and figure that the money already given Pendleton is just so much lost, or shall we trust him a little farther, and if he still fails, take other means of looking after our interests in the property?”

“I should be in favor,” said Tom, “of letting it go by the board.”

“Of course, I haven’t the thousand dollars,” said Chot, “and the only way I should be willing to take hold of the matter again would be to first explain to my father what the other money was used for, and ask his advice in the matter.”

“I think that’s a good plan,” said Fleet, “and I will further suggest that we talk the matter over with my father, also; I believe he might advance me the money to get in on the deal.”

“Well, of course,” said Tom, “I am in only through the kindness of Chot and his father. I own a fifth share, but it has not cost me one cent, except that I have obligated myself to pay for it, as well as for the money Mr. Duncan is advancing to send me to Winton, after I leave school and branch out into business for myself.”

“Your invention will realize more than enough to pay your debts,” said Chot, “so there’s no need to worry over that. However, I should hate to go farther into this proposition without your consent, Tom.”

“Oh, I’ll agree to anything you think best after you have talked the matter with your fathers,” said Tom.

It was decided to lay the matter before Mr. Duncan and Mr. Kenby that night, and the boys immediately arranged for a conference. Mr. Duncan had often wondered, he said, what Chot had done with the money asked for so mysteriously while at Winton, but had never sought to question him, knowing that Chot would tell him in good time.

The conference was held in Chot’s attic room, and the matter of the mine laid before Mr. Duncan and Mr. Kenby in detail. Chot told of Luther Pendleton’s visit to Stockdale, how he had sent for him and made the proposition, and how for Lucy’s sake, more than anything else, Chot had wired Mr. Duncan for the money.

“You and Tom, then, own a fifth share each?” Mr. Duncan asked.

“Yes, and another fifth is held by Lucy. Pendleton kept two-fifths as his share for working the proposition.”

“Well there’s nothing unfair about that, but if matters ever came to a crisis, it would depend on Lucy entirely as to which way the stock would go. Do you understand what I mean? If Lucy leaned toward her father he would have the controlling interest. If she leaned toward you, the advantage would be on your side.”

The boys nodded to signify that they understood.

“Pendleton is a shrewd fellow,” said Mr. Kenby, “and while we may not like him personally, I do not believe he would bother with a mining proposition at all if he did not see money in it.”

“That’s true,” said Mr. Duncan. “Like yourself I have some confidence in the actual value of the property. What I am afraid of is that Pendleton is seeking a way to eventually crowd the boys out of the proposition altogether. There is only one way to remedy such a thing—that is through a controlling interest in the mine, and that the boys have not got.”

“Then let me suggest that we induce Lucy to part with her share to Fleet,” said Mr. Kenby. “That will give the boys a three-fifths interest, and will overcome the difficulty you mention.”

“A good idea,” said Mr. Duncan. “Chot shall write to Lucy at once. She is in Stockdale with her aunt—or, at least, she said that was where she was going when she left here a few weeks since.”

“I’ll write to her to-night,” said Chot, which called forth a wink from Fleet. Chot understood the wink but paid no attention to it, and Fleet subsided.

“Be careful how you word the letter,” said Mr. Duncan. “It is a delicate subject for her, and there is no use to offend her or prejudice her against her father.”

“Leave that to me,” said Chot. “I had a perfect understanding with her at the time the papers were signed. She loves her father, I think, but knows he does not always deal squarely.”

“An awful position for a girl to be in,” said Mr. Kenby, with a grave shake of the head. “It’s lucky that Lucy has an aunt to stay with.”

“It is,” said Chot. “Mrs. Dashworth does not like Mr. Pendleton, and will always look after Lucy’s welfare.”

“Well, if she does not, there are others who will,” said Chot’s father, in a grim tone that sent a thrill through each of the boys.

“I’ll tell you, fellows,” said Chot, when Mr. Duncan and Mr. Kenby had gone down into the library for a smoke before retiring, “this mine is going to cause us trouble. I can feel it in die air. That is, unless we relinquish all claim to it, and that I’m sure none of us are inclined to do.”

“No; not in the face of facts made clear to-night,” said Tom. “Something has always told me that Luther Pendleton was a rascal of the first water. I cannot say what has made me believe this—instinct, perhaps—but ever since that day at the brass works, after my father died, when he told me of the obligation we would have to pay, I have mistrusted him.”

“Pendleton may know more of your father’s accounts than he cares to admit,” said Fleet.

“I have often thought that, and am waiting such a time as I can confront him with something substantial in the way of proof to that effect,” said Tom.

“It has always seemed to me,” said Chot, “that Luther Pendleton was not the sort of man to be the father of a fine girl like Lucy. I heartily wish he was not her father, for you must realize that regard for her would hold us back in this matter, when otherwise we would be inclined to see Pendleton severely punished.”

“It is for Lucy’s sake that I have never quite expressed my sentiments with regard to her father,” said Tom.

The boys finally separated for the night, Fleet going home with his father, and Tom to his attic den where he had a comfortable bed.

Chot sat up late, writing first to Commandant Cullum about Hoki, and then to Lucy. He went into considerable detail in the latter, asking Lucy if she would transfer the stock to Fleet for a sum to be agreed upon.

He mailed the letters in the morning.