In the loft of his father's hay barn Willie Case delved deep into the small red-covered volume, HOW TO BE A DETECTIVE; but though he turned many pages and flitted to and fro from preface to conclusion he met only with disappointment. The pictures of noted bank burglars and confidence men aided him not one whit, for in none of them could he descry the slightest resemblance to the smooth faced youth of the early morning. In fact, so totally different were the types shown in the little book that Willie was forced to scratch his head and exclaim Gosh!鈥� many times in an effort to reconcile the appearance of the innocent boy to the hardened, criminal faces he found portrayed upon the printed pages.

'I had the makings and I smoked

Or any other class that is less familiar with him,鈥� retorted Bridge; but the burning question just now is pots, not poetry鈥攆lesh pots. I'm hungry. I could eat a cow.鈥�

Naw, go on.鈥�

39 2 6 Squibbs farm Squibbs' farm

Six heads snapped up or around. Six pairs of eyes, blear or foxy, were riveted upon the boyish figure of the housebreaker. Wotinel!鈥� ejaculated a frowzy gentleman in a frock coat and golf cap. Wheredju blow from?鈥� inquired another. 'Hello, tramps'!鈥� mimicked a third.

Tell me,鈥� demanded the girl, why you were so kind to me when you thought me a worthless little scamp of a boy who had robbed some one's home.鈥�

Almost as funny,鈥� replied Bridge, as a burglar who recognizes Knibbs when he hears him.鈥�