"Well, he had the use of your shack, goodness knows how long, Phil," said Lub, with an imitation of his father's solemn manner when delivering an opinion from the bench; "and it's only fair you have the use of his boat. Tit for tat, you know. One balances the other. Besides, we are not supposed to know whose boat it is."
"There's something else I wanted to tell you about," remarked X-Ray.
He was thrusting a hand inside his coat as he spoke; and when it came out again the others saw that it held something like a buff colored envelope, torn open.
"Now, I found this same when I was nosing around," he explained. "It was caught tight away under this seat in the bow, and must have been blown there by the wind."
"Looks like one of those telegraph envelopes," remarked Lub.
"Which is exactly what it is," said X-Ray Tyson, as he offered the object in question to Phil. "There's an enclosure inside; read it, and see what you can make of the same. It got me balled up a whole lot, I'm telling you."
Phil quickly had the enclosure out. It was a printed form, and had a message written upon it.
"John Newton:
Winchester, N. Y. (hold until called for).
"Stay where you are. Search grows warmer daily. Too bad for both you can't compromise.
"Rutgers."