crop did more to establish the reputation of
the Mississippi League of the Weather than anything which the boys had
done since the League was organized. Although Jed Tighe was stern by
nature, he was thoroughly fair. He had no hesitation in placing the
credit where it belonged, and the boys soon found that they had no
stronger ally than the hard-spoken old farmer.

Even his friendship, however, did not prepare the boys for the farmer's
sudden arrival at their club-house, on a Saturday afternoon, two weeks
later. He drove up in a ramshackle old buggy, driving two of the finest
horses in the county. Skinflint though he was, he loved horses. He came
into the club-house and eyed the boys standing around the table.

"I'm going to ship some potatoes to Chicago," he said abruptly, without
any preface. "I want to know whether they'll be safe from freezing on
the way."

There was a moment's dead silence. The boys had not bargained for such a
point-blank demand for help, and it took them off their feet. One looked
at the other and several shuffled uncomfortably. The Forecaster watched
the lads keenly, interested to see how they would face the issue. Ross
spoke first.

"Well, Mr. Tighe," he said hesitatingly, "we haven't done any figuring
on the weather outside this neighborhood, as yet."

This cautious attitude did not appeal to Fred, who always wanted to
plunge in head first.

"Sure we can, Ross!" he declared.

The president of the League looked inquiringly at his mainstay, the
silent Bob, and, in answer to his unspoken question, the other nodded.

"We could try it, of course, if you wanted us to," agreed Ross.

"Ain't I asking you to?" said their visitor, sharply.

"But suppose we don't get it just right?" Ross queried.

"That's the chance I'm taking," the farmer replied. "But there's no
doubt that you know a lot more about it than I do, and your guess is
likely to be nearer than mine. Those potatoes have just got to go to
Chicago some time next week, anyway."

"It's a new stunt for the League," said Ross again, hesitating, but the
editor-in-chief broke in impatiently.

"We might as well tell what we know," he said. "We do know that there's
a cold wave on the way."

"There is? How cold?" the farmer asked, with a sudden quickening of
interest.

"Cold enough to freeze potatoes, at any rate," assured Fred. "I was
looking at the Weather Map only about an hour ago. Oh, it's going to be
cold, all right."

"How d