Prescott ran like a deer, as was to be expected from one who had played left end on the invincible Gridley High School eleven.
Just as he bounded on to the camp ground Dick's glance fell on a packing box some four feet long.
"This doesn't belong here," he muttered, bounding forward, then dropping on one knee beside the box.
In amazed wonder he read the following inscription, from a card tacked to the box: "Will Dick Prescott accept the enclosed and keep it as trustee for Dick & Co.?
From a most appreciative friend---two of them, in fact!" "Now, what on earth can this be ?" Dick demanded, as Dave reached his side.
Darry read the message on the card with growing wonder.
"Greg," directed Dick, "trot into the camp and get a hammer and the cold chisel.

Hustle!" Full of curiosity, Greg Holmes carried out the order at a run.
"Here you are!" panted Holmes.
Dick took the cold chisel, placed the edge against one side of the lid, and was about to strike the first blow when Darry snatched the hammer from his hand.
"What ails you ?" Prescott demanded.
"Suspicion," Dave replied dryly.

"In fact, I've a bad case of suspiciousness." "What are you talking about ?" Dick insisted.
"I don't know," Dave admitted.

"But I've something of a shivery hunch that perhaps we'd better not open that box." "What, then?
Toss it into the lake ?" "Even that might not be as foolish as it sounds to you," Darry went on.

"How do we know what that box contains!" "We never will know until we open it," declared Greg impatiently.
"And then we might be mighty sorry that we opened it," Dave continued.
"You think that there is something suspicious about the box ?" queried Prescott.
"Oh, the box looks all right," Dave laughed.