pedition for cans starting out under the leadership of his chum. Once
in the park, the quartette broke into impromptu games of tag, dashing
over the moist grass, or halting to puff lustily that they might watch
their breaths in the clear, frosty air. Tiring of this as they came to
the site of an old exposition bicycle race-track, they ran up and down
the grass-covered sides until Perry reminded them that the morning would
be over before they knew it, and started on a dogtrot for the goal.

Cans there were in profusion, also a fascinating array of wreckage of
other nature in this dump, which lay just north of the park. John picked
up a suitable container.

"Get 'em like this," he ordered Perry and Sid. "And be sure they don't
leak."

As the two walked obediently off, he prowled among the debris of his own
accord. Silvey raised a shout from the water's edge.

"Look-e-e." He held up a chair minus one leg and a back for John's
admiring approval. "Won't this be great for the shack?"

Sid and Perry turned and took a few steps toward Bill.

"Say," ordered the president and his secretary in unison, "get busy with
those cans. What do you suppose you came over here for?"

A little later, John discovered a pair of warped, rusty bicycle wheels,
and hastened over to Silvey with them.

"Can't we make a peachy wagon with these if we find two more?" he said
excitedly. "Bet you anything she'll go faster'n the fastest one on the
street."

Sid came up, his arms filled with tins. "That's enough," he blurted. "If
you want any more, you can get 'em yourselves." He looked down sullenly
at his rust-spotted waist. "Always the way. We do the work and you come
along and boss."

"Well," retorted John magnificently as Perry dropped his collection
beside Sid's, "we didn't _have_ to come at all, did we?"

They apportioned the rusty objects and the broken chair and wheels
between them and sauntered slowly homewards. It was easily dinner time
before the street was reached, and the party broke up as soon as the
booty was deposited in the Silvey back yard. John lingered a moment to
help Silvey carry the junk into the "Tigers'" club house.

"Gee," Bill exclaimed as he gazed at the nondescript jumble, "I'll bet
you it'll be a peachy time tonight."

John nodded ecstatically. Then a lump caught in his throat and held him
speechless for a moment. After all, he was out of the fun, and he hadn't
the heart to tell his chum, either. He turned to le