the look on his face inspired Bob with hope.

"It might not be a bad idea," he said, reflectively. "With five of you together, it ought to be safe."

"Of course!" exclaimed Bob, enthusiastically.

"But you know that you may encounter wild animals, and perhaps other dangers."

"We are all good shots," persisted Bob. "That is, all except Chubby, perhaps."

"Who is Chubby?" asked his father, with a smile.

"Oh, he's the 'Poet Laureate,'" laughed Bob.

"Is he to immortalize your trip in poetry?" asked Mr. Somers.

"He scribbles plenty of it. Has a volume of Bryant that scarcely ever gets out of his sight."

"Good for Chubby," said Bob's father. "How would you propose to make this trip—by rail?"

"I'll talk to the fellows about it, and see what they say," replied Bob.

"Let me know at once, then."

"Thanks, dad. I will. We'll certainly have a dandy time."

Mr. Somers smiled at his son's enthusiasm, then continued: "If your mother consents, I will give the Rambler Club its first commission. When I was there they were talking of a new road near the property. I'd like to know whether it has been built, what other improvements there are in the neighborhood, and what lumber is being cut near by. In fact, you'll make careful notes, and tell me all you see."

"First-rate, dad," exclaimed Bob; "I'll hunt up the boys first thing to-morrow, and tell them."

Bob rushed off to talk to his mother.

He found that it would be a difficult task to gain her consent. Naturally, she feared that they might encounter unforeseen dangers, besides being too venturesome.

Bob, however, with the confidence of youth, was so sure nothing could happen to them, that he at length managed to gain her consent.

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