hrough my plan! I don't know---but
I believe that the plan I have in mind is going to work out in
great shape!"

CHAPTER XVII

DICK MAKES FISH TALK

"That's the longest eight miles I've ever done," muttered Hazelton.

"The map is wrong. It's a hundred and eight," affirmed Dave.

"No matter, if the trip turns out to have been wisely planned,"
remarked Dick, a wistful look coming into his eyes. "Of course,
I may have overshot the mark."

"That's a chance we had to take," declared Dave promptly. "We
won't be disappointed if we find that we haven't made such a big
move, after all."

The three high school boys had halted in the shade of some trees
by the highway. A quarter of a mile away, around the head of
the body of water known as the third lake, stood a handsome hotel,
the St. Clair Lake House.

It was now nearly nine o'clock in the morning. Dick and his two
comrades had been on the way, over the rough road, propelling
the heavily laden push cart, from which water now dripped from
melting ice. The boys had built their ice-house, or ice-box,
whichever one preferred to call it, and they had stocked it with
ice from the cave. Dick, Dave and Greg had whipped up and down
the stream in turn; Tom and Dan had trolled the lake for bass.
As fast as the fish were brought in they were stored on the ice.
After two days of hard fishing the boys arose before four o'clock
in the morning, for Dick was now ready to test his venture.

"Stay close by that box, Harry," warned Dick, as he took hold
of the handles of the push cart.

"Won't I, though?" Hazelton demanded.

Dick and Dave trudged onward, taking brief turns at the cart.
Thus they entered the hotel grounds at the rear, continuing until
they were close up to the rear porch. Then Dick ascended the
steps and knocked at the door. As no one answered, he stepped
into the corridor.

"What do you want here?" asked a well-dressed, portly man of fifty,
who stepped out of a nearby room.

"I would like to see the manager, or steward, sir," Prescott replied.

"We don't want any help," replied the man.

"I haven't any help to offer, sir," Dick smiled. "Can I see the
steward, or the manager?"

"I'm the proprietor, if that will do," answered the man, giving
Dick a sharp look. He saw that his youthful visitor was evidently
a well-bred boy, but that did not prove that Dick was not looking
for work. College boys often serve as bell-boys or waiters at
summer