“Sure,” he said at last, a grin of delight creeping over his face. “You bet! Great, Dad! I’ll wire you as soon as we get back. Goodbye and give Mom a hug for me!”

Sandy put down the receiver and looked at the Cooks with a dazed smile of happiness. “It’s all set!” he breathed. “What a great guy!”

Mr. Cook beamed his pleasure as Mike bounded over to Sandy and walloped him exuberantly on the back. “Attaboy, Sandy! I knew it all along!”

“Well,” said Mr. Cook. “Congratulations on becoming an official member of the expedition. Soon as dinner’s over, we’ll go into the den and do a little homework—draw up a list of the things we’ll need and talk over the kind of country we’ll be going through.” He looked over at Mike with a smile on his face. “But let’s wait till after we’ve eaten. If we get to talking about it at table, your mother won’t be able to get a word in edgewise.”

All through the meal, Sandy tried to put thoughts of the trip out of his mind, but with little success. His attempts at polite table talk only brought amused glances from Mrs. Cook. Mike, too, seemed preoccupied, even to the point of refusing a third helping of fried chicken—an event that so stunned his mother that she almost forgot dessert.

When they finally finished, Mr. Cook pushed back from the table and stood up. “And that, I think,” he said, smiling gently, “was the quietest meal ever eaten in this house. You fellows are a couple of real sparklers in the conversation line.”

“Well, Dad ...” Mike began to protest.

Mr. Cook held up his hand. “I know. I know. You want to talk about the trip. I don’t blame you. So do I. Come on in here and let’s get it off our chests.” He led the way into his comfortably furnished den and paused before a pipe rack. The walls of the room were hung with Mr. Cook’s hunting trophies. Two whitetail deer flanked a stone fireplace, and over the mantel loomed the head of a huge Alaska brown bear. At one end of the room, rows of bookcases shared wall space with a gleaming walnut gun cabinet.

Mr. Cook selected a pipe, fingered some tobacco into the bowl and dropped into a chair near the fireplace. “Now,” he said. “Let’s have some questions. The floor is open for discussion.”

Both boys started together.

“Do you think I’d better ...” Sandy blurted.

 Prev. P 6/97 next