is a sacred person. We'll tow up the shell," and they went off, never suspecting their chum.
And how Tom had dissembled! The making of the cake, he knew, had only been a subterfuge, for he had made up his mind he would buy one at the store, and offer some excuse to his chums that the camp-made one had "fallen" which, I believe, is the technical word to use when the top of a cake displays a tendency to lie on the bottom of the pan, and not stand up properly. I was once a camp cook, and some of my friends are still alive to bear witness against me.
Now what Tom planned was this: As soon as his chums were out of the way he decided to enter the Mexican's shack, having learned the evening before, by skillful questioning, that Mendez had some work to do around a distant cottage, and would be away all morning.
"And we'll see what I can find there," murmured Tom, as he set out.
It was an easy matter to enter the shack, at least that part where the Mexican lived. The store section was closed, but Tom knew there was an entrance to it through the main shack.
A carelessly-fastened window gave admittance, and soon after his chums had departed to get the shell (which was kept now in the new college boathouse, that structure having been nearly completed), Tom found himself inside the shack.
