to Camden.

But when those cars entered Camden what a reception awaited the victors!
It seemed that half the town had turned out to meet them. Everybody had
a horn. As the first car, carrying the ball players, approached the
opera house there was a deafening blare of sound, and the explosion of
cannon crackers, and cheer after cheer rent the air. The moment the car
stopped Frank Merriwell was torn from his seat by admirers, was lifted
to the shoulders of sturdy fellows and carried to the hotel without
being allowed to touch his feet to the ground, while the throng surged
around him and shouted.

An hour later, as he sat in the office of the hotel, surrounded by
friends and admirers, he said:

"Fellows, I'd like to spend the rest of the summer right here in this
town. It's all right! I'm glad I've found Camden, and you may be sure
it's not the last time I shall stop here."

Then the mayor of the town, who happened to be present, said:

"Mr. Merriwell, Camden belongs to you. If there is anything here that
you want, take it. If you don't see what you want, ask for it. I don't
know that we can do any better by you than that."

That evening Landlord Drayben gave the baseball boys a dinner at the
hotel, and there were speeches and toasts and cheers for Merriwell.

After the dinner the dining room was cleared, an orchestra appeared, and
there was dancing. Again Frank was the first on the floor, with Phebe
Macey as his partner. And Phebe was the happiest girl in Camden that
night.

CHAPTER XV.

OFF FOR BAR HARBOR.

It was nearly midnight when a boat containing four lads pushed out from
Fish Market Wharf and pulled down Camden harbor toward the fleet of
yachts that lay anchored in Dillingham's Cove.

The moon had dropped down into the west, but it still shed its pure
white light on the unrippled water of the harbor, and, despite the
lateness of the hour, several boating parties were out. From away toward
the Spindles came the sound of a song, in which four musical voices
blended harmoniously. Nothing stirs the entire soul with a sense of the
beautiful like the sound of a distant song floating over the silvered
bosom of a peaceful bay or lake on a moonlight night in midsummer. Hodge
and Diamond, who were rowing the boat, rested on their oars, and the
four lads listened a long time.

"Beautiful!" murmured Merriwell, who was sitting in the stern of the
boat, the rudder lines in his hands.

Browning grunted