“Yes; haven’t you heard of it?—the Hazenfield Camera Club.”
“Why, yes,” Dobbs said. “I did hear something about a club, but I thought it was only two or three of you boys.”
“It has grown since then.”
“Evidently—hello, McConnell! You’re in it too. Say, I want to be a member, if you’ll take me.”
“I don’t see why not,” laughed Allan, “now that you’re a photographer.”
“Well,” said Dobbs, moving the bristles of his mustache again, “I’m not much of a photographer yet. I’ve only had courage to push the button once. I was just going to take the zebra—thought Sporty might like to see it.”
“What kind of a camera is yours?” asked McConnell. “Just a plain Detective, I suppose,” interposed Allan, laughing.
“It’s a Dashaway,” said Dobbs. “I got it through a pard of mine here in New York. He says it’s a good one. Sporty and me’ll have great fun with it. What do I have to do to get into your club?”
“That’s easy,” McConnell said. “Three dollars initiation fee and fifty cents a month.”
“It’s too cheap,” said Dobbs. “How do you get initiated?—in the dark, of course.”