Fred Ripley now sauntered up, offering his money. He was given
the same directions for finding a man to whom title could pass.

Dick looked about him. Then across the lot, and over on the further
side of the street he saw his father.

Dick returned quickly to the lot with Mr. Prescott, explaining
the situation. The bookseller listened gravely, but offered no
objections. He stepped over, paid the money for Dick, then said:

"I must be going. Turn the canoe over to my son."

"Yes, sir," replied the auctioneer's clerk. "Men, haul out the
truck that has the canoe on."

Mr. Prescott had already walked away. Dick and his chums greeted
the coming of truck and canoe with a wild whoop. Then they piled
up on the truck to inspect their treasure.

Fred Ripley, returning with Mr. Dodge, a local banker, saw the
six youngsters climbing up to look at their purchase. A broad,
malicious grin appeared on Ripley's face.

"Sold! sold!" gasped Dave Darrin. Then his face flushed with anger.
For the canoe, which looked well enough on exhibition, proved
to have three bad holes in her hull, which had been carefully
concealed by the manner in which the craft had been propped up
on the truck.