"I'll show you."
Dick sat down on a pile of debris. From his pocket he took a thin, red book, and commenced writing in it by the light of the embers of the ruined society house. Presently he tore out a slip of paper and handed it to Dutton.
"What—what's this?" stammered the treasurer of the Sacred Pig. "Why—why—Hamilton!"
"What is it?" demanded a score of voices, as the cadets crowded up.
"It's a check—a check," stammered Dutton, as he saw the figures which Dick had written in, and noted that they occupied four places. "It's a check!"
"To rebuild the society house of the Sacred Pig," said our hero simply.
"But I—I thought you lost all your money, Hamilton," said Dutton.
"I thought so, too," replied Dick. "So did Uncle Ezra, but I cabled to dad, and it's all a mistake. He took all our funds from the bank that failed before he went abroad. We didn't lose a cent."
"Then you're a millionaire yet, aren't you?" asked Dutton.
"I'm—I'm afraid so," answered Dick.