done before, and for the next week he went and came as he pleased,
sometimes being away all night.

"It's no use, though," declared Mr. Damon at the end of the week. "I
can't get anywhere near that shed, nor even get a glimpse inside of it.
I haven't been able to learn anything, either'. There are two gardeners
on guard all the while, and several times when I've tried to go in the
side gate, they've stopped me."

"Isn't there any news of Andy about town?" asked Tom. "I should think
Sam or Pete would know where he is."

"Well, I didn't ask them, for they'd know right away why I was
inquiring," said Mr. Damon, "but it seems to me as if there was
something queer going on. If Andy Foger is working in that shed of his,
he's keeping mighty quiet about it. Bless my--"

And once more he stopped in time. He was conquering the habit in a
measure.

"Well, what do you propose to do next?" asked Tom.

"Disguise myself like a tramp, and go there looking for work," was the
firm answer. "There are plenty of odd jobs on a big place such as the
Foger family have. I'll find out what I want to know, you see."

It seemed useless to further combat this resolution, and, in a few days
Mr. Damon presented a very different appearance. He had on a most ragged
suit, there was a scrubby beard on his face, and he walked with a
curious shuffle, caused by a pair of big, heavy shoes which he had