go somewhere to meet somebody, that letter's the one that monkeys
around and comes when the last dog's hung. A letter asking yuh if
yuh don't want to get rich in ten days sellin' books, or something,
'll hike along out here in no time. Doggone it!"

"You got a hurry-up order to go somewhere?" queried Shorty, mildly
sympathetic.

"Worse than that," groaned James G. "My sister's coming out to spend
the summer--t'-morrow. And no cook but Patsy--and she can't eat in the
mess house--and the house like a junk shop!"

"It looks like you was up against it, all right," grinned Shorty.
Shorty was a sort of foreman, and was allowed much freedom of speech.

"Somebody's got to meet her--you have Chip catch up the creams so he
can go. And send some of the boys up here to help me hoe out a little.
Dell ain't used to roughing it; she's just out of a medical school--got
her diploma, she was telling me in the last letter before this. She'll
be finding microbes by the million in this old shack. You tell Patsy
I'll be late to supper--and tell him to brace up and cook something
ladies like--cake and stuff. Patsy'll know. I'd give a dollar to get
that little runt in the office--"

But Shorty, having heard all that it was important to know, was
clattering down the long slope again to the stable. It was supper
time, and Shorty was hungry. Also, there was news to tell, and he
was curious to see how the boys would take it. He was just turning
loose the horse when supper was called. He hurried back up the hill
to the mess house, performed hasty ablutions in the tin wash basin