"And
we shall have our canoe there."
While chatting the young people had been walking up through the
hotel grounds until now they stood just behind the stone wall
that separated the ground from the road.
"Why---look what's coming!" urged Dave Darrin, in a voice expressive
of mock interest.
All looked, of course.
Fred Ripley, his hat drawn down over his eyes, came trudging along.
In one hand he carried a dress suit case, and from the way his
shoulder sagged on that side, the ease appeared to be heavy.
On young Ripley's face was a deep scowl.
"Judging from his appearance," suggested Tom Reade, "Rip is walking
all the way to the Land of Sweet Tempers. Probably he's doing
it on a wager, and is just beginning to realize what a long road
lies ahead of him. I wonder if he'll, arrive at his destination
during his lifetime?"
Fred's shoes, usually so highly polished, were already thick with
dust. His collar, ordinarily stiff and immaculate, was sadly
wilted and wrinkled. His whole air was one of mingled dejection
and rage.
"I wonder what can have happened to him?" asked Susie curiously.
"I think his conscience may be chasing him," smiled Dick.
What really had happened was that Squire Ripley had been present
when his son had made a very disrespectful answer to a white-haired
man, one of the guests at the Lakeview House where the Ripleys
were stopping.
In a great rage the lawyer had decided to send his son home for
that act of gross disrespect to the aged.
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