"What's the matter?" asked Clara.
"We are dressed all right for our own camp," Dick replied, glancing down at his flannel shirt, old trousers and well-worn pair of canvas "sneakers" on his feet. "We didn't feel out of place in the canoe, either. But the hotel is a fashionable place, and we can't go up in this sort of rig, to discredit you girls. For that matter, just think how smart you all look yourselves, dressed in the daintiest of summer frocks. While we look like—-well, I won't say the word."
"If our Gridley boys are ashamed to be seen with us just because they're in rough camp attire," said Laura gently, "then we haven't as much reason to be proud of them as we thought we had."
"I'm answered," Dick admitted humbly. "Lead on, then. We'll take comfort from our company, and hold our heads as high as we can."
On to the wide hotel porch, where many well-dressed people sat, the girls conducted the two delegates from the canoe club. However, none of the guests on the porch paid any particular attention to Dick and Dave. Both campers and canoers were common enough at this summer resort.
It was Clara who led the way into a parlor, in one corner of which there was a writing desk. Dick seated himself at the desk, and after a moment's thought began to write, then promptly became absorbed in his task. Dave and the girls seated themselves at a little distance, chatting in low tones.
There were other guests of the Hotel Pleasant in the parlor, while still others passed in or out from time to time.
One young man, quite fashionably dressed, stepped into the parlor, looked about him, then started as his glance fell on Dick and Dave.
It was Fred Ripley.
"Hello!" muttered Ripley in a voice just loud enough to carry, as he stood looking at Dick and Dave. "I thought I saw, out in the grounds, a sign that read: 'No tramps, beggars or peddlers allowed on these grounds or in the hotel.'"