"Oh, what a shame!" cried Clara sympathetically.
"To be short of money is more than a shame," blurted Tom Reade. "It is a crime, or ought to be. No one has any right to be poor—-but what can we do?"
"Oh, well, there are plenty of pleasant times to be had in good old Gridley in the summer time," Dick declared stoutly. "And we shall have our canoe there."
While chatting the young people had been walking up through the hotel grounds until now they stood just behind the stone wall that separated the ground from the road.
"Why—-look what's coming!" urged Dave Darrin, in a voice expressive of mock interest.
All looked, of course.
Fred Ripley, his hat drawn down over his eyes, came trudging along.
In one hand he carried a dress suit case, and from the way his shoulder sagged on that side, the ease appeared to be heavy.
On young Ripley's face was a deep scowl.
"Judging from his appearance," suggested Tom Reade, "Rip is walking all the way to the Land of Sweet Tempers. Probably he's doing it on a wager, and is just beginning to realize what a long road lies ahead of him. I wonder if he'll, arrive at his destination during his lifetime?"