and I dislike olive oil, anyhow. If
you'll eat the pancakes as I fry 'em, in bacon fat, you're more than
welcome to all you wish. But if you want olive oil used, you must fry
them yourself."

"Where's the other young man?" asked Mrs. von Minden.

"Hey! Rog!" roared Ernest. "You're wanted."

Roger sat up on the edge of his cot with a yawn. As he did so, his eye
fell on the unopened letters on the trunk.

Without waiting to dress he opened the one postmarked Washington. He
read it through twice, then very deliberately rose and pulled on his
clothing. His face was pale beneath the tan as he stepped out into the
morning sun.

"Ernest, here's some bad news!" he called. "Come over to the tent a
moment."

As Ernest hurried up, Roger said slowly, "Austin is dead and the
Smithsonian Institute says it doesn't know anything about the deal with
me."

Ernest dropped the pancake turner he was holding. "Good God!" He read
the letter, then looked up into Roger's somber face. "Dropped dead in
New York three weeks ago. Poor chap!"

Roger nodded. "But what was he up to? The writer of that letter says
that although the Smithsonian was interested in a general way in our
work, Austin had no authority to go ahead. Now, where did he get the
money?"

"I suppose he was afraid some one else would get in on it while the
Smithsonian was hesitating, so he funded up himself. I suppose they'd
have paid him back. You remember his cursing out the delays and the red
tape that hampered everything connected with the government. I thought
he was hipped on the subject, but now--"

"What makes you think all that?" asked Roger.

"Well, don't you remember in St. Louis, when he was ordering stuff from
the Condit Iron Works he said he'd pay the bill himself, to get the
stuff started?"

Roger shook his head. "I don't remember. But I guess you're right. Lord,
what a good scout he was to have so much faith in me! I wonder how much
he spent on us, and whether his wife is provided for?"

"That won't be hard to find out. What we've got to worry about now is
the situation with the Smithsonian. They can't realize how far we've
gone."

"Yes, they do," replied Roger. "That letter from, what does he sign
himself--Hampton?--is in reply to the report I sent Austin from Archer's
Springs, two weeks ago. Why, they've got to go on with it!"

"If they won't, we are up against it," groaned Ernest. "I don't want to
ask father for money, and you and the Dean have