CHAPTER I—THE SCHOOLBOY CHUMS 

“Come on, fellows, if you are going! It’s a good six-mile skate to Squirrel Island, and we’ve got to hustle if we want to get there in time for lunch.” 

“Wait till I fix my right skate, Dave,” returned Phil Lawrence. “I don’t want to lose it on the way.” 

“Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” came from another of the group of schoolboys who were adjusting their skates. “Once a man asked for a pair of skates for——” 

“Stow it, Shadow!” interrupted Dave Porter. “We haven’t any time now to listen to stories. You can tell them while we are resting up at the island.” 

“Shadow can tell stories while we put away the lunch,” observed Roger Morr, with a grin. 

“Not much!” cried the lad mentioned. “I guess that skate will make me as hungry as anybody—and the stories will keep.” 

“I thought Ben Basswood was going, too?” came from another of the schoolboys. 

“Here he comes, Lazy,” answered Dave, and as he spoke he pointed to a path across the snow-covered campus, along which another boy was hurrying, skates in hand. 

“Co-couldn’t get here an-any so-sooner!” panted Ben, as he dropped on a bench to adjust his skates. “Old Haskers made me do some extra work in Latin! Wow, but don’t I love that man!” 

“We all do,” answered Phil. “We are going to get up a testimonial to him. A silver-mounted——” 

“Slice of punk, with an ancient lemon on top,” finished Dave. “It’s just what he’s been waiting for.” And at this sally there was a general laugh. 
with what on top ?
ancient lemon