"Never mind if we're worth a million, or only a single dollar,"

interrupted Reade impatiently. "Watch the battle between our leader and Rip, the Mean!"

Now the bidding became slower, fifty cents at a time being offered, bids coming only when the auctioneer threatened to "knock down."

"I don't want to get this confounded canoe fastened onto me,"

grumbled Fred Ripley to himself. "I want to stick Prescott and his crowd for all I can, but I must look out that I don't get stung. I know better than to want that canoe, no matter how good it _looks_!"

"Sixteen," said d.i.c.k at last, feeling more desperate inwardly than his face showed.

"Sixteen-fifty," from Ripley.

"Seventeen," offered d.i.c.k, after a pause.

"Seventeen-fifty," announced Fred, after another long bait.

"Eighteen!" followed up young Prescott. He was in a cold perspiration now, lest the fight be forced too far.

To his astonishment, Fred Ripley, an ugly sneer on his face, turned his back on the bidding.

"Are you through, gentlemen?" demanded the auctioneer, after a keen look in the direction of the lawyer's son.

"I am," Ripley growled over his shoulder.

"I am offered eighteen! Eighteen! Eighteen! Who says nineteen?

Make it eighteen-fifty! Who says eighteen-fifty? Eighteen and a quarter! Are you through, gentlemen? Then going, going---gone!

Sold to Master Prescott at eighteen dollars. Young man, I congratulate you. Walk right up and pay your money! All, or a deposit?"

d.i.c.k, who had been collecting loose change from his chums, now came forward.

"I'll pay a deposit of seven dollars," he announced.

"Hand it here, then. Seven dollars; thank you. Here's your receipt.

Now, remember, Prescott, you have until the end of one hour after the sale closes. Then, if you're not here with the other eleven dollars, you must expect to forfeit this deposit."

"I know," d.i.c.k nodded.

Then he hurried off to his chums.

"Come along," he said, with desperate energy, as he led them away from the field. On the sidewalk he halted.

"We've got it, fellows!" he exulted. "We've got it! Hooray!"

"Yes; we've got it, if we've got eleven dollars more---which we haven't," Greg remarked.

"We've eleven dollars more to raise," Prescott went on hurriedly.

"Roughly, that's two dollars apiece. We must hustle, too."

"No hustle for mine," yawned Dan Dalzell. "I'll just step down to my bank and get the money. Will two dollars be enough, d.i.c.k?"

"Stop that talk," ordered Dave Darrin, getting a grip on Dan's shirt collar. "If you don't, I'll thrash you! d.i.c.k has a scheme.

Out with it, old chap!"

"The scheme is simple enough," said Prescott hurriedly. "We must each get two dollars, and get it like lightning. That will come to a dollar over the amount we need, but we shall need the extra dollar, anyway. So hustle! Borrow the money from anyone who'll let you have it. Offer to work the money out at any time---any old kind of work. The only point is to come running back with the money. Get it in any honest way that you can, and don't one of you dare to fail, or we'll lose our deposit money and our canoe.

Start!"

Nor did Prescott lose any time himself, but raced down the street, turned into Main Street and ran on until he came to the little cross street on which stood the bookstore conducted by his father and mother.

"Mercy, d.i.c.k! What makes you run so?" asked Mrs. Prescott. d.i.c.k was rejoicing to discover that there was, at this moment, no customer in the store.

"Mother," replied her son, "I want to borrow three dollars this minute. I'll be responsible for it---I'll pay it back. Please let me have it---in a hurry!"

Then, briefly, he poured out the story. Mrs. Prescott's hand had already traveled toward the cash register.

"We're very short of money just now, my boy. Try to earn this and pay it back quickly. You know, trade is slow in the summer time, and we have several bills to meet."

"Yes, I'll pay it back, mother, at the first chance---and I'll make the chance---somehow," promised young Prescott. "Thank you."

The money in his hand, d.i.c.k raced back to the lot where the show tent still stood.

He was back before any of the others and waited impatiently.

Dave Darrin came up ten minutes later.

"Did you get it?" asked d.i.c.k anxiously.

"Yes," replied Dave laconically, pushing two one dollar bills into d.i.c.k's hand.

One by one the other boys arrived. Each had managed to round up his part of the a.s.sessment.

With thirteen dollars in his hand, d.i.c.k went up to the auctioneer's clerk.

"I am ready to pay the other eleven dollars on the canoe," Prescott announced, speaking as calmly as possible.

"All right," agreed the clerk. "But you'll have to find some man you can trust to take the bill of sale. We can't pa.s.s t.i.tle to a minor."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" d.i.c.k demanded.

"That's all right. It wasn't necessary before, but it is now.

Just find some man who will treat you all right and give you the canoe. Then we'll take the money and make out the bill of sale to him."

Fred Ripley now sauntered up, offering his money. He was given the same directions for finding a man to whom t.i.tle could pa.s.s.

d.i.c.k looked about him. Then across the lot, and over on the further side of the street he saw his father.

d.i.c.k returned quickly to the lot with Mr. Prescott, explaining the situation. The bookseller listened gravely, but offered no objections. He stepped over, paid the money for d.i.c.k, then said:

"I must be going. Turn the canoe over to my son."

"Yes, sir," replied the auctioneer's clerk. "Men, haul out the truck that has the canoe on."