"I say, what's gone wrong now, Maurice, old fel?" The speaker, a roughly clad boy of about fifteen or over, caught hold of his companion's sleeve and looked sympathetically in his face. The lad whom he called Maurice was better dressed, and he seemed to carry with him a certain air of refinement that was lacking in his friend, who was of a rougher nature. Despite this difference he and Thad Tucker were the closest of chums, sharing each other's joys and disappointments, small though they might be. They had met just now at the post-office of a little country town not many miles below Evansville, Indiana, as the afternoon mail was being sorted. The yellow flood of the great Ohio River could be seen from where they stood, glowing in the early November sunshine. Upon being greeted with these words Maurice Pemberton shook his head dolefully.