The Haunted Fort by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

painting?”
    The smug look on Ronnie’s face turned to one of anxiety but only for a moment. He sniggered. “Fatso probably messed it up himself.” He pointed to his canvases. “The judges will know good stuff when they see it. Say,” he added abruptly, “why are you two cruising around in that weird boat, anyhow?”
    â€œPart of our research,” Joe replied tersely. By now it was almost seven o’clock, and the Hardys wondered how Chet was making out. They started for the studio and met Chet coming out, his canvas grasped carefully in both hands.
    â€œAny luck?” Joe asked eagerly.
    â€œI hope so.” Chet held out his revised painting.
    The yellow basket now contained a large, green, elliptical fruit. Below was the title—“Still Life of a Watermelon in a Basket.”
    Frank and Joe praised their friend’s ingenuity. “It looks good enough to eat, Chet!” Frank grinned.
    For the next hour four men judges viewed the paintings and sculptures, frequently jotting down notes.
    The Hardys diverted Chet somewhat by telling of their experiences at the fort that day. The plump boy grew tense, however, as the judges paused at his easel. Inscrutably they eyed the still life, scribbled on their pads, and passed on to the next painting. Chet shrugged. “Guess I don’t have a chance.”
    An air of anticipation hushed the crowd as the judges returned to their table and conferred privately. Finally they handed a sheet of paper to Jim Kenyon, who announced:
    â€œLadies and gentlemen, we’re ready to award the prizes.”
    The crowd surged close, and waited silently. First, the sculpture awards were read by René Follette. Mr. Davenport stood next to the prize table and handed out a ribbon and a gift to the three winners.
    Uncle Jim stepped forward to give the painting awards.
    â€œBoy, even I’ve got butterflies—they’re coming out of my ears!” Joe whispered.
    â€œFirst prize for the best watercolor goes to ‘Night Crossing’ by Carol Allen.”
    Applause accompanied each announcement as the lucky students accepted a ribbon and a gift. A smile crossed the instructor’s face.
    â€œAnd finally, first prize for the most original work, in all categories, goes to ‘Still Life of a Watermelon in a Basket’ by Chester Morton!”
    Chet was speechless with delighted surprise.
    â€œGo ahead, pal!” the elated Hardys shouted above the applause, slapping their friend on the back.
    Proudly Chet went forward to receive hand-shakes from both his uncle and Mr. Davenport. Several students congratulated him warmly as he squeezed his way back to Frank and Joe.
    â€œLook what I got—a complete oil-paint set!” He beamed, cradling a large wooden box in his arms. “Thanks a lot, fellows, for your encouragement.”
    Joe could not resist a pun. “We knew it’d just be a matter of time before something tickled your palette!”
    The three Bayporters laughed.
    â€œO-oh, look who’s coming,” Frank said as Ronnie Rush pushed through the crowd. His name had not been among the prize winners and his face showed it.
    He glared resentfully at Chet. “Just plain dumb luck, fatso!” Ronnie kicked at a rock and marched angrily up the hill.
    â€œWhat a poor loser!” Joe said.
    â€œMaybe I should have thanked him,” Chet said, “if he did try to make trouble for me.”
    â€œSpeaking of trouble,” Joe said tersely, “look at what’s coming.” He pointed to the lake where a cabin cruiser was anchored a little way beyond the promontory. Standing on deck was Chauncey Gilman! Then the pilot rowed him to the beach and helped Gilman step ashore.
    The critic, as elegantly dressed as before, moved disdainfully through the throng. The Hardys and Chet watched as Uncle Jim greeted the newcomer guardedly. Mr. Davenport followed, clearly exerting all his will power to