"I'd like to do it," offered Dan. "I could spare a Sat.u.r.day afternoon."

"So could I," volunteered Fred. "How about you, Midge?"

"Count me in. While we're clearing away the trash, we might find some things we could use for knight's armor. I noticed a lot of old tin and metal lying around. Also some wheels and things."

"Let's make it Sat.u.r.day then," proposed Brad. "If Red and Chips can't come, why that's all right."

"Oh, I can make it, I guess," Red back-tracked.

Chips, not to be left out on any Den affair, said he would be on hand too.

The Cubs had spent more time than they had intended exploring the countryside. With a glance at his watch, Mr. Hatfield warned that they would have to walk briskly if they were to reach home in time for supper.

"Maybe we can hook a ride!" Midge suggested. "Here comes a truck. Let's signal the driver."

Despite his frantic hand waving, the truck rolled on past. However, a quarter of a mile farther on, the hikers observed a familiar appearing station wagon coming toward them.

"Say, that looks like my Dad's car!" exclaimed Midge.

He was right. A moment later, with a screech of brakes, the station wagon halted at the side of the road.

"Hey, you're going in the wrong direction!" Midge called to his father.

"I'll turn around," Mr. Holloway offered. "I heard you boys were out this way on a hike. The weather's turning colder, so I thought you might like a lift back into town. Of course if you prefer to walk-"

A hoot of derision greeted this remark. The Cubs waited until Mr.

Holloway had turned the station wagon around on the narrow road, and then piled in.

Midge, Dan and Mr. Hatfield sat in the front with the Den Dad. The others crowded into the rear, stowing their collection of roofing discs at their feet.

"It's sure swell to catch a ride," Dan said gratefully. "My dogs were beginning to ache me."

In the rear of the station wagon, the other Cubs broke into song, making further conversation all but impossible.

The car presently approached the outskirts of Webster City. At the lefthand side of the road, Mr. Holloway noticed a boy trudging wearily along the edge of the pavement.

"Maybe I should give him a lift," he remarked, slowing the station wagon.

"He appears tired."

Dan thought that the boy looked faintly familiar. He could not place him though.

However, as Mr. Holloway brought the station wagon to a standstill only a few yards away from the pedestrian, he caught a full view of his face.

"It's that boy Jack!" he exclaimed.

"Not the one who escaped from Guy Wentworth?" Mr. Hatfield demanded incredulously.

"I'm sure of it."

"It does look like him," the Cub leader acknowledged. Quickly he added: "Boys, don't let on that you suspect a thing or ever have seen the lad before. If we play our cards right, we may be able to take him back where he belongs."

CHAPTER 11 "Do Your Best"

Mr. Holloway waited until the runaway boy came alongside the station wagon.

"How about a lift into town?" he called cheerfully.

The boy hesitated. His clothes were unpressed, his hair uncombed. Plainly he had been sleeping wherever he could find a bed or a haystack.

"No, thanks," he muttered, starting to turn away.

"Oh, come on, you look as if you're tired," Mr. Holloway urged. He swung open the door of the station wagon.

Jack gazed curiously at the Cubs. Apparently however, he did not remember either Dan or Brad, if indeed he had noticed them on the night of the rain storm.

Finally, rea.s.sured by the friendly faces of the Cubs, Jack slid into the front seat between Mr. Holloway and Mr. Hatfield. Dan made room for him by perching himself on the Cub leader's knees, his body blocking off the door.

"Going far?" Mr. Holloway asked the boy, as he drove on.

"Just into Webster City," the other replied reluctantly.

"Glad to give you a lift," Mr. Holloway said, deliberately trying to stimulate conversation. "Which school do you attend?"

"Not any right now," the boy muttered. He squirmed uneasily.

"You don't like school, I take it?"

"Not very much. I'd rather be outdoors."

"Schooling though, is a mighty useful thing," Mr. Holloway continued. "It helps one get a better job and appreciate the good things of life."

"The good things of life!" Jack repeated with a snort. "That's a laugh!"

"You speak as if you've had a tough time." Mr. Holloway deliberately was trying to draw the boy out.

"Oh, I ain't complaining," Jack returned. "I've learned to get along."

"I can see that," Mr. Holloway said dryly. "But you don't seem too happy.

This is the time of your life when you should be having a good time-playing football, ice skating, all the sports."

A flash of interest illuminated Jack's face. But it was gone in an instant, to be replaced by a look of suspicion.

"Say, what you handing me?" he demanded. "And who are all these kids?"