"It beats anything I ever heard of—I can hardly believe it. Sure you're not joking?"  
"Amazing—that's the word! I wonder what their game is now. H'm, I'm utterly¹ befogged, or whatever you choose to call it."
 
"Haven't we been easy marks, though?"
 
"Now we are certain that Mr. Wingate and Nat have been working some kind of a game on us."
 
The five Ramblers had gathered in Bob Somers' room, and were discussing the astonishing turn in affairs with much animation².
 
"The whole thing must have been started on the very day that Mr. Wingate came down to look at the 'Rambler.' Probably he only gave Nat a boat so that he could follow us."
 
"There's a lot of things we have to find out," observed Dick; "who damaged the engine, for one."
 
"Yes—and who blew up the 'Rambler.'"
 
"And who took the 'Nimrod.'"
 
"And—and—Say, fellows, this everlasting³ mystery is positively⁴ getting on my nerves," said Dick. "Can't we do something to clear it up?"
 
"We must."
 
"One sure thing," replied Bob, "they don't want us to continue our trip."
 
The five boys were so interested in their discussion that the afternoon slipped away almost before they knew it.
 
A light, quick step outside suddenly brought all conversation on the subject to an end. Another instant, and Nat entered the room.
 
"Hello, where have you been for such a long time?" asked Bob, carelessly.
 
"For one thing, took in a lot of moving picture shows," replied Nat, without hesitation⁵. "Didn't expect to find you fellows here until about grub time, anyway."
 
"Come on, fellows," put in Dave; "that reminds me. A nice piece of roast and some mashed⁶ potatoes would go pretty well just now."
 
They all trooped down-stairs into the dining-room.
 
"What are we going to do after supper?" inquired Tom Clifton.
 
"Oh, walk around and see what's going on."
 
"Wish a fire or something else would happen," observed Nat, charitably. "Say, Somers, how long are you going to stay in this place?"
 
"About two or three days."
 
"H'm—hang it all, we ought to put in at least a week, eh, Chubby⁷?"
 
Bob smiled, as he led the way out into the street.
 
"Well, Nat," he asked, "haven't you any news for us?"
 
Wingate began to laugh.
 
"Yes!" he answered, pulling a letter out of his pocket. "Listen to this, and you'll hear the funniest roast you ever came across."
 
He went off into another burst of merriment.
 
"Hit your funny-bone, Wingate?" asked Dick Travers.
 
"It's a letter from Uncle Parsons. Christopher! But he has handed out a few choice remarks about poor old Hacky. Listen."
 
Nat began to read.
 
"'When John Hackett learned of your disobedient and disgraceful conduct, and my firm resolve to take them all back to Kingswood, he acted in a fashion which I can hardly describe. His loud and impudent⁸ remarks encouraged the others. They actually defied me, made a rumpus in the hotel, then stamped out into the street, as if they were a lot of rowdies. Not one of them has since put in an appearance. I consider John Hackett the most impudent boy I ever came across, and I hope it is not your custom to be guided by anything he may say.'
 
"A fine, hot roast for poor old 'Hatchet,'" gurgled Nat. "Uncle Parsons is certainly sore. Ha, ha! The whole crowd left him in the lurch⁹."
 
Next morning, just after breakfast, Bob declared his intention of going to the post-office.
 
The members of the Rambler Club, accompanied by Nat Wingate, left the hotel in a body and were soon in the busiest section of the city.
 
"Where is Nat?" cried Dick Travers, a few moments later.
 
"That's so—what has become of him?" added Dave.
 
Nat was nowhere to be seen.
 
"He has given us the slip."
 
"Is he up to some new trick?"
 
"Boys!" exclaimed Bob Somers, suddenly, "I'm going to leave you."
 
"Hold on I Where are you bound?"
 
"To the house behind the picket¹⁰ fence. It may be a waste of time—but—"
 
"Let us go along, too?" urged Sam.
 
Bob shook his head.
 
"Too risky¹¹, Sam."
 
"But I went the other day."
 
"That was different. Can't wait to talk, fellows—see ............