“Oh, well, there’s no use worrying about it now,” was Ned’s philosophical comment. He was now in better humor. “If I only had some of the money I’m sure dad would have given me——”
“Here!” cried Bob, eagerly producing a few bills. “Take half of this until you can get yours. I sha’n’t need it. Besides, I’ve got credit with the proctor.”
“I haven’t—worse luck,” grumbled Ned. “Well, I’ll take this, and make you an I. O. U. later. Thanks. And now let’s have a real meal. Ah, I beat you to it!” he exclaimed as he saw Bob about to make the same suggestion. “We’ll eat and go back to Boxwood. Then I’ll write to dad and send him this letter.”
The meal progressed merrily. It was a holiday at the school, the occasion being the regatta on the lower end of the lake, and the boys, having already missed the racing, were in no haste to return.
“Make sure you have plenty of gas this time, Bob,” advised Ned, as the three went down to the dock where the motor boat was tied.
The trip back was uneventful, if we except the fact that Bob nearly fell overboard when making a sudden grab for his hat that had blown off.
“Yes, this sure is queer business,” said Ned, musingly, when the three chums were gathered in his room, which adjoined the apartments of Bob and Jerry.
“What’s queer?” the tall lad questioned, rather absent-mindedly.
“This cattle-stealing out on dad’s ranch,” and Ned glanced over the foreman’s letter again.
“Seems to interest you,” observed Bob.