The Grammar School Boys Snowbound | Page 5

know. "If we try going into camp at
this time of the year we want, first of all, some place above ground,
with enough daylight and sunlight. We want a weather-tight place that
we can keep properly warm."
"All of that," agreed Dick.
"Why can't we build a place, out in the woods somewhere?" Greg
insisted.
"For one thing," objected Tom Reade quizzically, "there are no leaves
at this time of the year."
"What do we want leaves for?" queried Greg.
"To lay on the roof, like shingles."
"Bosh!" snapped Holmes. "We'd build our camp of wood."
"Well, where'll we get the wood?" came from Dave.
"We can carry it from home," proposed Greg.
"No lumber pile in our yard. Is there in yours?" Dave insisted.

"We can use the boards from old boxes and things," went on Greg
desperately.
"Oh, excuse me!" mimicked Tom Reade. "I am not camping out in any
grocery boxes at this cold time of the year."
"You might go home nights, then," hinted Greg disdainfully.
"The whole camping idea is a great one, if we could only put it
through," declared Dick.
"Then let's put it through," pressed Greg Holmes. "Where there's a will
there's a way, you know."
"The trouble is that we need a pocketbook more than a will," returned
Prescott doubtfully. "It would take lumber to build a winter camp, even
if we could prove ourselves good enough carpenters."
"How much money would it take?"
"Well, I don't believe a hundred dollars would go far," declared Reade.
"Make it a thousand, then," laughed Darrin. "We fellows couldn't raise
either sum in a year."
"It's too bad," sighed Harry Hazelton. "A good camp, at this time of the
year, would be huge fun!"
"Yes; it would," agreed Dick. "I don't see the way now, but we may
find it. We can keep on hoping."
"Hey, you boobs!" called a disagreeable voice across the ice.
All of the six Grammar School boys slowed down and turned around.
They found themselves looking at a solitary skater who had slowed
down. He was Fred Ripley, son of Lawyer Ripley, one of the wealthy
men of the town. Fred was never over polite to those whom he
considered as his "inferiors." Besides, young Ripley was now in his
freshman year at the Gridley High School. As such, he naturally looked

down on mere Grammar School boys, none of whom, perhaps, would
ever reach the dignity of "attending High."
"What do you want, Ripley?" called Dick. "Planning to give us a lesson
in the art of polite speech?"
"Cut the funny talk," grumbled Fred. "Prescott, did you get a letter
from my guv'nor this morning?"
"Why, no; I didn't know your father was in the habit of writing me
letters. Anyway, I left home before the mail carrier was due."
"Guv'nor said that was likely to happen," continued Fred. "So he told
me, if I saw you fellows on the ice, to say that he wanted to see you."
"All of us?" Dave wanted to know.
"I reckon so. And the guv'nor said it was important, too. You boobs had
better crank up your skates and make fast time. Guv'nor won't be at his
office late to-day."
"What----" began Dick.
"The guv'nor gave me a message to you fellows, and I've delivered it,"
cut in Fred airily, as he started to skate away. "That's all I've got to do
in the matter. I don't care to stand here all day. Somebody that knew me
might come along and catch me talking with you."
"The snob!" muttered Dave indignantly.
"What on earth can the lawyer want of us?" pondered Greg.
"Generally, when a lawyer sends for you, it means trouble," guessed
Dalzell.
"Or else some relative has died and left you a lot of money," added
Harry Hazelton.
"Well, in any case," replied Dick, "we six fellows haven't the same

relative, anywhere, and Fred said his father wanted to see all of us."
"We haven't been doing anything--nothing wrong, anyway," declared
Dan virtuously.
"We won't know the answer until we've seen Mr. Ripley," declared
Dick. "We'll have to go around there after dinner to-day."
"Why not go now?" proposed Tom Reade. "We haven't anything
special to do with our time."
"You fellows haven't much imagination, have you?" laughed Dave, his
eyes twinkling mysteriously.
"Have you guessed?" demanded Dick Prescott.
"Well, it's only a guess, of course, and it may be a wild one."
"Out with it!" ordered Tom Reade sharply.
"You know, fellows," Dave continued, "that we did some service for
Mrs. Dexter last fall, and that she tried to reward us. Now that she's
gone away to parts unknown, perhaps you also know that Lawyer
Ripley is managing her money affairs these days."
"Then----" gasped Greg.
"Why, fellows, now that