Just before leaving Gridley, Greg Holmes had bought a copy of
the "Blade" from a newsboy.

Three miles out, the chums enjoyed their first halt.

"Ten minutes' rest under this tree," Dick announced, for already
the August morning sun was beating down upon them.

Greg drew out his copy of the newspaper, unfolding it.

"Say!" he yelled suddenly.

"Stop that," commanded Tom Reade, "or you'll make the horse run
away and wreck our outfit."

"But this paper says-----"

"Stop it," ordered Tom with a scowl. "I know what you're going
to do. You'll read us some exciting stuff, and get us all worked
up, and then in the last paragraph you'll stumble on the fact
that some well-known Tottenville man was cured of all his ailments
by Brown's Blood Bitters."

"Can you hold your tongue a minute?" demanded Greg ironically.

"Not when I see you headed that way," retorted Reade. "I've been
fooled by the same style of exciting item, and I know how cheap
it makes a fellow feel when he comes to the name of the Bitters,
the Pills or the Sarsaparilla. Holmesy, I want to save your face