spreadin' himself. Haw! haw!"

Captain Sol laughed in sympathy.

"But he didn't mean no harm by it," explained the proud father. "He's
got the tenderest little heart in the world. When he found his ma felt
bad he bust out cryin' and said he'd scrape it all off again and when it
come prayer time he'd tell God who did it, so He'd know 'twa'n't mother
that wasted the nice butter. What do you think of that?"

"No use talkin', Hiram," said the depot master, "that's the kind of boy
to have."

"You bet you! Hello! here's the train. On time, for a wonder. See you
later, Sol. You take my advice, get married and have a boy of your own.
Nothin' like one for solid comfort."

The train was coming and they went out to meet it. The only passenger
to alight was Mr. Barzilla Wingate, whose arrival had been foretold
by Bailey Stitt the previous evening. Barzilla was part owner of a
good-sized summer hotel at Wellmouth Neck. He and the depot master were
old friends.

After the train had gone Wingate and Captain Sol entered the station
together. The Captain had insisted that his friend come home with him to
breakfast, instead of going to the hotel. After some persuasion Barzilla
agreed. So they sat down to await Issy's arrival. The depot master could
not leave the station until the "assistant" arrived.

"Well, Barzilla," asked Captain Sol, "what's the newest craze over to
the hotel?"

"The newest," said Wingate, with a grin, "is automobiles."

"Automobiles? Why, I thought 'twas baseball."

"Baseball was last summer. We had a championship team then. Yes, sir, we
won out, though for a spell it looked pretty dubious. But baseball's an
old story. We've had football since, and now--"

"Wait a minute! Football? Why, now I do remember. You had a football
team there and--and wa'n't there somethin' queer, some sort of a--a
robbery, or stealin', or swindlin' connected with it? Seems's if I'd
heard somethin' like that."

Mr. Wingate looked his friend over, winked, and asked a question.

"Sol," he said, "you ain't forgot how to keep a secret?"

The depot master smiled. "I guess not," he said.

"Well, then, I'm goin' to trust you with one. I'm goin' to tell you the
whole business about that robbin'. It's all mixed up with football and
millionaires and things--and it's a dead secret, the truth of it. So
when I tell you it mustn't go no further.

"You see," he went on, "it was late into August when Peter T. was took
down with the ins