That’s what we claim.
Poor, p-o-o-r R-i-p-l-e-y.”
A half dozen boys were swinging along the road, singing as if every note gave them the greatest possible enjoyment.
They were solid, lusty-looking chaps, and the house-boat boys watched them approach with interest. So did Colonel Ellison and his chauffeur.
“Good-evening, boys,” said the former, abruptly. “Have you seen a house-boat in this vicinity?”
“A queer-looking pile of logs?” queried one of the students, as the group stopped short and surrounded the automobile.
“Yes, that ees it!” cried Pierre, quickly. “You see him—where?”
“He was on the river,” replied the spokesman, with a laugh. “Can’t be very far from here. Your private yacht?”
Colonel Ellison glared very sternly over the rim of his glasses at the author of this audacious speech.
“Ah!” he said; and the tone was so ominous that the students were interested at once.