ke them immensely. She began
to mother them in the way that pleases all women. She ruled them like a
family of wayward children, she settled their disputes, and they
submitted with subdued, though extravagant, joy. She asked Llewellyn
once about that wound in his arm, but he lied fluently, and she believed
him, for she was not the kind to credit evil of her friends.

Once they had received encouragement, they fairly monopolized her. She
was never safe from interruption, for the Wag-boys never slept. They
came to her cabin singly and collectively at all hours of day or night,
during her absence or during her presence, and they never failed to
leave something behind them.

Reddy was a good cook, but he loathed a stove as he loathed a policeman,
yet he donned an apron, and at the cost of much profanity and sweat
produced a chocolate cake that would have done credit to a New England
housewife. Furthermore, it bore June's name in a beautiful scroll
surrounded by a chocolate wreath, and she found it on her bed when she
came home one morning.

Chancing to express a liking for oysters in the hearing of the Scrap
Iron Kid, she mysteriously received a whole case of them when she knew
very well that there were none in camp. Of course she did not dream that
in securing them the Kid had put his person in deadly peril.

On returning from her duties at another time she found that during the
night the interior walls of her cabin had been painted, and, although
she did not want them painted and although the smell gave her a violent
headache, she pretended to be overcome with delight. In order to
beautify her little nest Reddy had burgled a store and stolen all the
paint there was of the particular shade that pleased his eye.

Now, the Wag-boys pretended to be care-free and happy as time went on.
In reality they were gnawed by a secret trouble--it was June's growing
fondness for Harry Hope. After careful observation they decided that the
P. C. agent would not do at all; he was too wild. He had undeniably lost
his head and was gambling heavily, tempted perhaps by the lax morality
of the camp and the license of good times.

It was the Dummy who finally proposed a means of safeguarding June's
wandering affections.

"Somebody's got to split her away from this Hope," he declared. "It's up
to us, and Llewellyn's the only one in her class."

The Scrap Iron Kid's face assumed an ugly yellow cast as he inquired,
quietly, "D'you mean Geor