ster retorted.

Then Jones had recourse to his usual, "Tush, tush, Davy! You've tired
yourself all out. You'll feel better tomorrow."

This sort of language, in a fatherly tone that from Paul's slender size,
in contrast with Dave's large frame, was really grotesque, always provoked
a mild laugh. Usually, too, it closed the wordy clashes in which the two
boys frequently engaged.

MacLester made no further response. He was ready for bed now, Billy had
already crept in and Phil and Chip Slider were following him.

"Last is best of all the game," chirped Jones in his own blithe,
self-complacent way as he saw that he was bringing up the rear, as
often he had done before. But in another moment he likewise was in bed.
The boys were feeling now the late hours of the night before. Undoubtedly
they all would "feel better tomorrow."

The probability that the amiable Mr. Murky would discover Chip Slider's
presence in the woods had been discussed before, but the talk was renewed
at breakfast Monday morning. Chip was quite sure the old fellow did not
suspect that he was near. He had been very careful to keep out of Murky's
sight and was more anxious than ever to do so now, being quite sure there
would be serious trouble for himself and his new friends as well, were he
discovered.

It was so apparent that Slider stood in great dread of the tramp that
Phil had no hesitancy in suggesting that he might better remain at the
camp while the others visited the old house. Chip agreed readily. He said
he could be of no use elsewhere, and his presence with the Auto Boys would
but inflame Murky as much against them as himself if they chanced to meet
him.

With the exception of the upstairs window being closed, the clubhouse
and its surroundings looked exactly the same as on their former visits
to the Point, the Auto Boys found. The air of loneliness, melancholy and
excessive quiet impressed them all just as it had done before. The sound
of their own footsteps appeared to ring in a hollow and unnatural way.
Their voices, though low and subdued, seemed loud and harsh in their ears
in the foreboding calm of this haunted atmosphere.

"I don't see _why_ it should always feel so here--as if a fellow was just
going to be scared to death," remarked Billy in an undertone.

"If you figure it out, though, it's all in your mind," replied Phil
thoughtfully. "Trouble is, to make yourself believe it."

But notwithstanding his reasoning, sound enough