"Old Salts are old sailors, Margy," explained her brother impatiently. "And the ocean is full of salt and the old Salts— Well, I don't think that's a very good riddle, Artie. No wonder we couldn't guess it."
"Maybe not," agreed Artie good-naturedly. "But lots of our riddles aren't so very good."
"I wouldn't mind getting up at this time every morning," declared Fred, who seemed to be unusually energetic. "What say, Artie, my lad?"
"Go on, if you like," Artie encouraged him. "But I am not going to get up at five o'clock every morning—not if I know it."
"It's no fun getting up alone, so I'll have to stay in bed, I suppose," said Fred. "Well, if I am not famous for doing a day's work before breakfast, you'll be the one to blame, Artie."
The farm where Mrs. Williamson bought eggs was some two miles from the beach. The boys and girls were forced to walk in the middle of the road, for the grass was wet with dew. Now and then a farmer's cart rattled past them, but it was too early for the truck gardeners to be out with their loads of green vegetables.
"Why don't we take the Riddle Club dues and buy a farm with 'em?" suggested Artie, as they passed a particularly well-kept place which apparently struck his fancy.
"The only reason," Fred returned, "is that if we took the dues out of the bank, it would collapse. I don't want to be responsible for wrecking the River Bend Bank—do you?"
Artie giggled and shook his head.