Saxe Temple arrived at the foot of the lake in mid-afternoon, and with him came Roy Morton, Billy Walker and David Thwing. Jake was awaiting the incoming train, his weather-beaten face aglow with anticipation. The terms of the will having become known to him, he had developed what might be called a sporting interest in the issue. After years of monotony, excitement had jumped into his life. Therefore, he now advanced toward the four young men with suit-cases, who had descended from the Pullman, and bobbed his head energetically, his clean-shaven face wrinkled in a smile.
“Mr. Temple and party, I ca’c’late?” he remarked inquiringly, looking from one to another.
“I am Mr. Temple,” said the heir, with an answering smile, as he stepped forward. He indicated his companions with a gesture. “These are my friends, come to help me on a bit of business I have in the neighborhood. You know about it?”
Jake beamed joyously.
“Well, now, I’ve got quite some suspicionings, as it were,” he admitted, cautiously. “I hope you’ve left everybody well to hum?”
“Oh, I believe some in the city are complaining,” Saxe replied, with apparent seriousness; “but the general health is about the average.”
“Jest so!” Jake showed himself gratified. “Well, I’ll lead ye over to the motor-boat.”
Billy Walker groaned stertorously.
“And we’re not there even yet!” he exclaimed, aghast.