That handkerchief did not have a hole there when I looked at it."

"Maybe Nat put the hole there," returned the senator's son.

"Why would he do that?" questioned Phil.

"So that nobody would know what the name of the sanitarium really was.
I believe with Dave that Nat knows the man, or knows about him, and is
trying to keep something a secret."

"Hum! Maybe you are right," mused the shipowner's son.

Phil had perfected all his arrangements for his spread at the hotel,
and his guests for that occasion had been duly invited and all had
accepted the invitation. It had been arranged with Mr. Dale that the
boys should drive to the hotel in the school carryall, and Horsehair
was to have his supper in town and, later on, bring them home. No
secret was made of the affair, for this was not necessary.

"I am only sorry for one thing," said Phil to Dave. "That is that I
can't have the whole school there. But that would go beyond my
purse."

"Well, you'll have enough, Phil, to insure a good time," answered our
hero.

The night was clear, with numberless stars glittering in the heavens,
when the carryall drove around to the Hall door and the boys piled in.
All were in the best of humor, and they left the campus in a burst of
song.

"I've been saving up for this!" cried Ben. "Haven't eaten a mouthful
for two days!"

"Say, that puts me in mind of a story," cried Shadow. "Once a poor
street-boy was invited to a Sunday-school picnic. The ladies fed him
all he could hold and then some. At last, when he couldn't eat another
mouthful, and saw some cake and pie and ice-cream going to waste, what
do you suppose he said?"

"Give it up, Shadow."

"He said, 'Say, missus, please save it fer me, won't yer? I won't eat
fer a week, honest, an' then I'll come an' finish it all up fer
yer!'"

"Good for the street-boy!"

"Say, Phil, you won't have to save anything for me! I'll eat my share
right now!"

"I've been in training for this feed!"

"Shove the horses along, Horsehair; we don't want the soup to get
cold."

"I'm a-shovin' 'em along," answered the carryall driver. "We'll git
there in plenty o' time."

"Say, Phil, as far as I am concerned, you can have this affair pulled
off once a month," remarked Buster.

"Make it once a week," piped in Chip Macklin. And then Luke Watson
commenced to sing a popular negro ditty and all joined lustily in the
chorus.

On and on rattled the carryall until the lights of Oakdale shone in