"Great Scott! Some sleep, isn't it? That's better than I do at
Colversham."

"Rat_her!_"

"Well, I need sleep. I'm worn out with over-study."

"You are, like--"

"I am. I'm an intellectual wreck," moaned Van. "It's the Latin."

Bob burst into a shout, which was cut short by a rap at the door.

"Time to get up, boys," called the cheery voice of Mr. Carlton.
"Step lively, please. Here's a can of hot water."

The boys wasted no more time in fooling.

They bathed, dressed, and almost before they knew it were at the
table partaking of a hearty breakfast which was capped by heaps of
golden brown pancakes rendered even more golden by the sea of maple-syrup
in which they floated.

"I'll never be able to climb anything after this meal," Van gasped
as he left the table and was thrusting his arms into his sweater.

Bob grinned.

"Don't expect us back before late afternoon, Father," he called over