is it, Porter? Oh! I suppose you want to see me about that man,
Obadiah Jones. Well, I'll tell you all I know. Come on back to where I
can sit down. This lame ankle of mine is still rather weak." And thus
speaking Mr. Lawrence led the way around to the front porch of the
bungalow.

"What I want to know is if this Ward Porton was really a nephew of
Obadiah Jones," said Dave.

"Yes, that's what Miss Jessie wanted to know, too. Of course I don't
know for sure, but I do know the boy's name was Ward and that he called
Jones, Uncle Obadiah. You might write to Obadiah Jones and find out. He
lives in Burlington, Vermont, and that's not so very far from here--just
on the other side of Lake Champlain. His full name is Obadiah L. L.
Jones. We used to always call him Old L. L. About everybody in
Burlington knows him."

"Perhaps I'd better go and call on Mr. Jones," suggested Dave. "I'd hate
to wait for an answer to a letter."

It was not long before the others in the camp knew what Dave had learned
concerning Ward Porton and his supposed uncle, Obadiah L. L. Jones. The
boys agreed with Dave that it might pay to make a trip to Burlington to
see him, and Phil and Roger volunteered to go along.

"You might want a witness or two," declared the senator's son.

The upshot of the matter was that the following day found the three boys
bound for Burlington. The other lads helped to row them to the upper end
of the lake, and there, at a camp belonging to a rich New Yorker, they
managed to obtain a horse and buckboard on which they rode to the
nearest railroad station. They were in time to catch the midday train
for Plattsburg, where they had to remain over night. Then they caught
the first boat across Lake Champlain to the city for which they were
bound.

Dave had been told by Mr. Lawrence where they might find Obadiah Jones,
who was interested in a coal, lumber, and real estate business. Our
hero, accompanied by his two chums, found the man in his office, a
small, dingy coop of a place surrounded by huge piles of lumber. He was
a short, stout, bald-headed individual, wearing large spectacles, and he
looked up rather uninvitingly as they entered.

"Is this Mr. Obadiah Jones?" questioned Dave, politely.

"That's my name, young man. What can I do for you?" demanded the lumber
dealer, brusquely.

"I came to get a little information from you, Mr. Jones, if you'll give
it to me," went on our hero. "My name is Dave Porter. I came to s