Jerry could never become wholly reconciled to the modern gun Bluff
owned. He professed to be such a clean sportsman that he always believed
in giving the game a chance, and declared it to be next door to murder
to have six shots in hand when hunting birds. With big game, it was all
right, because then a fellow's life might often be in danger.

"Oh, Martin Mabie has written quite a long letter. He seems to be an
educated man, and not at all the brand we figured out from hearing Jesse
talk about him. Boys, we can now lay our plans, and make a start inside
of a week," declared Frank.

"Isn't it just great? Did ever a set of grads get such a chance for fun
as this?"

"I don't believe they ever did, or ever will, Bluff. And our folks have
been mighty good to give us this glorious opportunity to enjoy an outing
such as we've hankered after for a year, remember that, fellows,"
remarked Frank seriously.

"You can just wager that I make it a point to let the pater know my
sentiments. He's the best dad going, and I mean to make him proud of me
some day. But tell us more about it, Frank. Where is Martin Mabie to
meet us, and what does he tell us to fetch along?"

"I'm not going to say another word, Jerry, until we get to the
clubhouse, when every one of you can have a chance to read his letter,"
remarked Frank as he prepared to cast off and throw his sails to the
breeze again.

"A week, did you say? Oh! what a long time to wait!" groaned Bluff.