“Frank Merriwell of Yale! Frank Merriwell—here in this region! Am I dreaming? Is this an optical illusion?”

“I am Frank Merriwell of Yale,” laughed Merry himself, standing on the platform of the railroad station at Mattawamkeag, in the State of Maine. “You are right about that. But you—you cannot be Fred Forest, the Harvard man!”

“I am, just as hard,” laughed the other, a stout, healthy-looking youth of nineteen, roughly dressed in woolen clothes, a red sweater, blue cap, long-legged boots, with trousers thrust into them, while he wore no coat at all. “But you, the famous fullback of Yale, the great pitcher on the college ball team—you are the last person I could have dreamed of seeing here!”

“And you, the most elegantly dressed man of Harvard, the favorite in the swell society of Cambridge, whose apartments were said to be the most luxurious student rooms in this country, with a single possible exception—you here, in this rig! I am the one to be astonished.”

“It seems to be a case of mutual astonishment. Sure you have me daffy, old man. I can’t believe my eyes even now.”

“No more can I. Why, you are the man they said would not even take the trouble to strike a match to light your own cigarette if your valet were within call. As for dressing[154] yourself, it was said you had never been compelled to perform such a menial task. And now I meet you here—in such an outfit! I am the one who is dreaming! I shall awaken in a moment!”

Fred Forest laughed heartily in a well-bred manner, grasping Frank’s hand and shaking with a truly aristocratic movement, which showed he was sure to “do the proper” wherever he might be.

“It’s no dream as far as I am concerned, my dear boy,” he assured. “I am here, in the flesh—and in this outfit.”

“Are you going into the woods on a sporting trip?”

“I assure you not! Quite the contrary. But how do you happen to be here?”

Frank explained in a few well-chosen words, making clear without telling a long story just why he was in Mattawamkeag.

“I just came down to the station to see about purchasing tickets for Bangor,” he finished. “I was astounded to see you step off the train as it came in.”

“So you are on your way down the river, and I just came up. And you and your friends have planned to go down to-day?”

“Yes.”

“Better stop over till to-morrow. I’m here on business. We’ll have a jolly good time talking over the great games and races between our respective alma maters. You’re in no particular rush. Say you’ll stop.”

Frank hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he said, slowly; “I wouldn’t mind.[155] Some of the others might growl. But you haven’t told me how it is you are here—in this rig.”

“It’s a pretty long story, but I’ll cut it short and make it clear in a few words. My father is dead. He was supposed to be very rich, but, when he died, his property was found to be involved. He was engaged in the lumber business, and he owned large tracts of forest up here in this State. Every winter he cut a great amount of timber, which was brought down the river in the spring. He died early last spring, and, when it was found that his affairs were involved and he was not as rich as supposed, everything came to a standstill. There seemed to be no one to carry on his business, and so not half of his timber was run down the river. When I realized just where I had been left in the world, I set about trying to straighten father’s affairs out. It took some time to get, so I could see through anything, but, at last, I found out about how things stood. There was a chance of pulling things out and putting the business on its feet with good management. But where was the manager? Then I decided to give up college and take up my father’s business. The creditors kindly agreed to give me time, and that’s about all there is to be told, save that I am trying to get the timber down the river, even though it is out of season. The price of lumber has advanced, and I can make a big strike toward squaring things if I can get the logs out. The river is not as low as usual at this season, and I am running the logs, although it has cost me much more to get them out than it would have cost last spring. I’ll have to give up getting a drive off the East Branch, but I have[156] brought one down the main river, and there is another somewhere this side of Twin Lakes. It should be at Melway by this time. It is the largest drive of any, and I am going down with it. That’s all. Now you understand why I am here, dressed in this rig.”

Frank’s eyes shone with admiration and sympathy.

“Old man,” he said, seriousl............