“Some contract for Mr. Gordon,” observed Tommy Tucker with unusual reflection.

“How about it’s being some contract for Mr. and Mrs. Canary?” suggested Bob Henderson.  “Maybe they will shy at such a crowd.”

“I asked Uncle Dick about that,” Betty said eagerly.  “He told me all about Mr. and Mrs. Canary.  He has known them for years and years.  They must be awfully nice people and they have got a great, big, rambling bungalow sort of house, all built of logs in the rough.  But inside there is a heating plant, and electric lights, and shower baths, and everything up-to-date.  Mr. Canary is very wealthy; but his money could not keep him from getting tuber—­tuber——­”

“‘Tubers,’” said Bob with gravity, “are potatoes, or something of that kind.”

“Now, Bob! you know what I mean very well,” cried Betty.  “His lungs were affected.  But they have healed and he is perfectly well as long as he stays up there in the wilderness.  The air there has wonderful cur—­curative properties.  There!”

“Look!  Will it cure such a bad attack of poetry?” interrupted Bobby, drawing the attention of the others to Timothy Derby and Libbie who, with heads close together, were absorbed in a volume of verses the boy had brought with him from home.

“It might help,” said Bob.  “It ought to be cold enough up there at Mountain Camp to freeze romance into an icicle.”

“I hope we all go then,” Teddy Tucker agreed.  “Our folks have said we could—­haven’t they, Tom?”

“With suspicious alacrity,” agreed his twin.  “How’s that for a fine phrase, Louise?  Do you know, I think mother and dad were almost shocked when they got the telegram from Salsette and knew our vacation was to be prolonged.  The idea of Mountain Camp seems to please them.”

“Goodness!  I know dear Mrs. Littell doesn’t feel that way about it,” cried Betty.

“She’s got girls,” said Ted dryly.  “You know it is us boys who are not appreciated in this world.”

“Yes,” said Bob, “you fellows are terribly abused, I’ll say.  But, now!  Are we all sure of going?  That’s what I want to know.”

“Timothy——­” began Louise; but Bob held up his hand to stop her.

“I know from his father that Tim can go.  Uncle Dick is sure to take us, Betty, isn’t he?”

“He sent off a telegram to Mrs. Canary this evening.  If she sends back word ‘Yes’ we can go day after to-morrow.”

“That’s all right then,” said Bob, quite as eagerly.  ’The thing to do then is to plan what to take and all that.  It is cold up there, but dry.  Much colder than it was at school before we came down.  Furs, overcoats, boots, mittens—­not gloves, for gloves are no good when it is really cold—­and underthings that are warm and heavy.  We don’t want to come back with noses and toes frozen off.”

“Humph!” said Bobby scornfully, “what kind of underwear should you advise our getting for our noses, Bob Henderson?”