Dick.

"Then let's put it through," pressed Greg Holmes. "Where there's a will
there's a way, you know."

"The trouble is that we need a pocketbook more than a will," returned
Prescott doubtfully. "It would take lumber to build a winter camp, even
if we could prove ourselves good enough carpenters."

"How much money would it take?"

"Well, I don't believe a hundred dollars would go far," declared Reade.

"Make it a thousand, then," laughed Darrin. "We fellows couldn't raise
either sum in a year."

"It's too bad," sighed Harry Hazelton. "A good camp, at this time of the
year, would be huge fun!"

"Yes; it would," agreed Dick. "I don't see the way now, but we may find
it. We can keep on hoping."

"Hey, you boobs!" called a disagreeable voice across the ice.

All of the six Grammar School boys slowed down and turned around. They
found themselves looking at a solitary skater who had slowed down. He
was Fred Ripley, son of Lawyer Ripley, one of the wealthy men of the
town. Fred was never over polite to those whom he considered as his
"inferiors." Besides, young Ripley was now in his freshman year at the
Gridley High School. As such, he naturally looked down on mere Grammar
School boys, none of whom, perhaps, would ever reach the dignity of
"attending High."

"What do you want, Ripley?" called Dick. "Planning to give us a lesson
in the art of polite speech?"

"Cut the funny talk," grumbled Fred. "Prescott, did you get a letter
from my guv'nor this morning?"

"Why, no; I didn't know your father was in the habit of writing me
letters. Anyway, I left home before the mail carrier was due."

"Guv'nor said that was likely to happen," continued Fred. "So he told
me, if I saw you fellows on the ice, to say that he wanted to see you."

"All of us?" Dave wanted to know.

"I reckon so. And the guv'nor said it was important, too. You boobs had
better crank up your skates and make fast time. Guv'nor won't be at his
office late to-day."

"What----" began Dick.

"The guv'nor gave me a message to you fellows, and I've delivered it,"
cut in Fred airily, as he started to skate away. "That's all I've got
to do in the matter. I don't care to stand here all day. Somebody that
knew me might come along and catch me talking with you."

"The snob!" muttered Dave indignantly.

"What on earth can the lawyer want of us?" pondered Greg.

"Generally, when a lawyer sends for you, it means trouble," guessed
Dalzell.

"Or else so