when he's not home. It would be a ticklish piece of work to stumble in there, and be searching about, and have him find me. I wonder if I can get in when he's out? He does go out quite often."
Tom went on to camp, and his absentmindedness caused his chums no little wonder, until Sid exclaimed:
"Oh, it's all right—Tom's got the symptoms."
"What symptoms?" demanded our hero.
"The love symptoms. A lovers' quarrel made up is worse than falling in at first. Look out!" for Tom had shied a shoe at his tormentor.
"Practice to-day," announced Frank, the next morning. "Mr. Pierson said he'd be over early and we've got to go down and get the shell. He's going to put us through a course of sprouts today."
"All right," yawned Tom, with a fine appearance of indifference. "But I've got to mix the stuff for cake if I'm going to bake it." He had promised to show his skill in pastry-making. "So if you fellows will go down and get the shell I'll be ready when you come back."
"Three of us can't row a four-oared shell," protested Sid.
"Well, tow it up by the launch, then. I'm not going to have the cake spoiled."
"That's right," declared Frank. "The cook
