“Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. I am the original and only genuine second-story burglar!”
“Frank Roscoe!” exclaimed Fenn. “How did you get there?”
“Climbed up over the porch,” replied the newcomer. “I rang the bell until I was tired, and nobody answered.”
“That’s so, I forgot. Mother’s out this afternoon and there’s no one down stairs. But why didn’t you do as Ned did, walk in? The door’s not locked. I didn’t hear you ring.”
“I prefer this method of stealing into houses,” replied Frank, a tall dark youth, as he bounded from the window sill into the room. “It’s more romantic. Besides I needed exercise, and it was easy climbing up the porch pillar.”
“Don’t give us any romance,” begged Bart.
“No, don’t,” advised Ned, rubbing his thigh where he had come down rather heavily. “The days of romance are dead.”
“That’s not the only thing that’s dead in this town,” put in Fenn. “Things are getting rather dull. We need some excitement to keep us awake.”
The two newcomers soon learned the reason for Fenn’s absence from school that day. They examined his cabinet of minerals and made more or less sarcastic comments about his new fad.
“Yes,” went on Bart, after a pause. “I wish we could have some fun, as we did when we were off camping in the woods, last summer.”