"Fur nawthin'," he muttered--"or what you like."

"All right, Billy," I said, briskly; "just look over those rifles and
ammunition and see that everything's sound."

He slowly lifted his tough young face and gave me a doglike glance.
They were hard eyes, but there was gratitude in them.

"You'll get your throat slit," whispered Lesard.

"Not while Billy's with me," I replied, cheerfully.

Late that night, as I was preparing for pleasant dreams, a knock came
on my door and a telegraph-messenger handed me a note, which I read,
shivering in my bare feet, although the thermometer marked eighty
Fahrenheit:

"You will immediately leave for the Hudson Mountains via
Wellman Bay, Labrador, there to await further instructions.
Equipment for yourself and one assistant will include
following articles" [here began a list of camping utensils,
scientific paraphernalia, and provisions]. "The steamer
_Penguin_ sails at five o'clock to-morrow morning. Kindly find
yourself on board at that hour. Any excuse for not complying
with these orders will be accepted as your resignation.

"SUSAN SMAWL,
"President Bronx Zoological Society."