THE MAN WITH THE HAUNTING FACE


The noon meal had been eaten, and the camp put to rights. The
water before them and the woods behind them called to nature-loving
Dick & Co., yet the invitations were ignored.

What could be in the innocent-looking box? That was the question
that held six minds in the thraldom of curiosity.

"I can't stand this suspense any longer!" muttered Reade towards
three o'clock in the afternoon.

"Open the box yourself," prompted Danny Grin.

"I will," offered Reade, advancing toward the box. "I don't care
if it's a ton of dynamite, all fixed up with clock work and automatic
fuses. I want to find it out."

But Greg Holmes sprang forward.

"Wait just a little longer, Tom," he urged. "Dick will be back
in a few minutes and then we'll get him to agree to it."

"Dick Prescott doesn't open the box," Tom retorted.

"It's addressed to him, anyway," said Greg firmly.

"I guess that's right," interposed Dave, nodding. "And Dick will