Now, fellows, what are we goin' to do this vacation? demanded Cub Perry as he leaned back in his upholstered reed rocker and hoisted his size 8 shoes onto the foot of his bedstead. "School's all over, we've all passed our exams, and now we've got a long vacation before us with nothing to do. It's up to yo-uns to map out a program." "Why can't you help map it out?" asked Bud Taylor with something of a challenge in his voice. "You always have the last word?" "Cub's the dictator of our outfit, and we do the work, that's why," declared Hal Stone. "We always have to listen to him, you know that, Bud. So what's the use o' kickin'?" "Oh, I'm not kickin'," Bud replied. "It's no use. Cub 'u'd drown us out with his voice if we hollered. You know you made 'im admit once that noise was the only thing that 'u'd convince him." "You c'n change that now and call it static instead of noise since we've all become radio experts," smirked Cub with characteristic superiority. "Ha, ha," laughed Bud.