MORE LETTERS
Jerry found Ned, his nearest chum, at home, and told him of the news
from the west.
“That’s fine!” cried Ned. “Come on and tell Bob.”
“Don’t have to,” said Jerry. “Here he comes now.”
The stout youth was, at that moment, walking along the street toward
Ned’s house.
“Come on in!” cried Ned, as he opened the door while his chum was still
on the steps.
“That’s what I was going to do,” responded Chunky. “Did you think I was
going to sit out here? Of course I’m coming in. What’s the matter?” for
he saw by Ned’s face that something unusual had occurred.
“Jerry’s got a letter from Nellie Seabury—they’re in lower
California—we’re going—I mean they want us to come and pay them a
visit—I mean—”
“Say, for mercy sakes stop!” cried Bob, holding both hands over his
ears.
“I guess Ned’s a little excited,” suggested Jerry.
“You guess so—well, I know so,” responded Bob. “Are you all done?” and
he cautiously removed his hands from his ears.
“Tell him about it, Jerry,” said Ned, and Jerry told the news.
“It would be fine to go out there,” said Bob, reflectively. “But
there’s school. We can’t get out of that.”
They all agreed they could not, and decided the only thing to do was to
wait until the following summer.
“Too bad,” remarked Bob with a sigh. “Winter is the best time of the
year out there, too.”
In spite of the fact that they knew, under the present circumstances,
they could not go for several months, the boys spent an hour or more
discussing what they would do if they could go to California.
“Oh, what’s the use!” exclaimed Ned, when Jerry had spoken of how fine
it would be to hire a motor boat and cruise along the Pacific coast.
“Don’t get us all worked up that way, Jerry. Have some regard for our
feelings!”
“Well, let’s talk about school. It opens Monday.”
“Don’t mention it!” cried Ned. “I say—hello, there’s the postman’s
whistle. He’s coming here.”
He went to the door, and returned carrying a letter, the envelope of
which he was closely examining.
“You can find out from who it is by opening it,” suggested Jerry.
“Here’s a funny thing,” spoke Ned. “This letter is addressed to my
father, but, down in one corner it says, ‘May be opened by Ned, in case
of necessity.’”
“Well, then, open it,” suggested Bob. “This is a case of necessity.
Where’s it from?”
“Boston, but I don’t recognize the writing.”
“Open it,” called Jerry.
Ned did so, and, as he read, he uttered a cry of astonishment.
“Well if this isn’t a queer thing,” he said. “Did you ever see such a
coincidence? This letter is from Professor Uriah Snodgrass, and listen
to what he says: ‘Dear Mr. Slade, or Ned. I write thus as I want one of
you to read it in a hurry, and one of you may be away from home. You
remember the last I saw of you and your chums (this part is for Ned)
was in Florida. There I secured the rare butterfly I was looking for,
and, through that success I was able to obtain a position with a Boston
museum, to travel all over the world for them, collecting valuable
specimens. I have been here for only a few weeks, but I already have a
commission. I am soon to start for California, in search of a Cornu
batrachian.’”
“A ‘Cornu batrachian’!” exclaimed Bob. “For the love of tripe, what’s
that?”
“California!” murmured Jerry. “I guess the fates want to pile it up on
us.”
“Say, is that ‘Cornu batrachian’ anything like a mountain lion?” asked
Bob.
“Wait,” counseled Ned. “He explains. ‘The Cornu batrachian,’ he says,
‘is what is commonly called a horned toad. I must get several fine
specimens, and I thought you boys might be making another trip, and
could go with me. I would be very glad of your company. Please let me
hear from you. My regards to Mrs. Slade.’”
“Well, wouldn’t that tickle your teeth!” exclaimed Bob, more forcibly
than elegantly. “And we can’t go!” he added with a groan.
“Think of the fun we’ll miss by not being with Professor Snodgrass,”
went on Ned.
“And with the Seabury family,” chimed in Jerry.
“It’s tough!” exclaimed Ned. “And school opens Monday!”
At that moment there was a whistle out in the street and a ring at the
door bell.
“The postman again,” said Ned. “I wonder what he wants?”
He went to the door.
“Here’s a letter I forgot to give you,” said the mailcarrier. “It got
out of place in my bundle, and I didn’t discover it until I was quite a
way up the street.”
“That’s all right,” answered Ned good-naturedly. “From the Board of
Education,” he murmured, as he looked at the printing in the upper left
hand corner. “I wonder what they are writing to me about?”
He opened it and drew out a printed circular. As he re-entered the room
where his chums were he gave a cry of delight.
“Listen to this!” he called, and he read:
“‘To the pupils of the Cresville Academy. It has been discovered, at
the last moment, that a new heating boiler will be needed in the
school. The tubes of the old one are broken. It has been decided to
replace it at once, and, as it will be necessary to do considerable
work about the building, thereby interfering with the proper conducting
of studies, the school will not open for another month, or six weeks,
depending on the length of time required to install a new boiler.
“‘Therefore pupils will kindly not report on Monday morning, as
originally intended, but will hold themselves in readiness to begin
their school work shortly after the receipt of another circular,
which will be sent out as soon as the building is in proper shape.
The faculty earnestly recommends that all pupils apply themselves
diligently to their studies during this unlooked-for, unfortunate,
but wholly necessary lengthening of the vacation season. By
applying to their respective teachers pupils will learn what
studies to continue.’”
“Whoop!” yelled Bob.
“O-la-la!” cried Ned after the fashion of some Eastern dervish.
“Say! That’s great!” exclaimed Jerry. “A month more of vacation!”
“Now we can go to California with Professor Snodgrass, and help him
catch horned toads!” added Ned.
“And visit the Seabury family,” supplemented Jerry. “Oh, boys, this is
simply immense! Things are coming our way after all!”