“Do you find the grub as good as we told you it would be?” asked Jimmy.
“It’s simply heavenly,” said Larry, solemnly.
“Say!” exclaimed Bob, suddenly, “have any of 183 you Indians happened to think what next Monday is?”
“Sure,” said Herb, flippantly. “It’s the day after next Sunday. Ask me something harder next time.”
“That’s right,” said Bob, giving him a withering glance. “As our friend Herbert says, it is the day after Sunday, but it also happens to be Columbus Day, and therefore a holiday. How did we ever come to forget that?”
“Hooray!” they shouted, and with one accord linked arms and executed an impromptu dance.
“That being so, let’s go with Larry when he reports for work,” proposed Joe. “Who’s game to do it?”
“I’m with you!” exclaimed Bob. “We can see that Larry gets there all right, and maybe Mr. Allard will show us over the station. We were in such a hurry when we were there before that we couldn’t see very much.”
“I’d like to go first rate,” said Herb. “But I’m so far behind on my French that I’m afraid I’ll have to stay at home and make up for lost time. I’m ’way back in math., too.”
“I won’t be able to go either, I’m afraid,” said Jimmy, dolefully. “Dad has just taken a big contract, and I’ve promised to help him all my spare time next week. I’d forgotten about Monday being a holiday, though,” he added, truthfully. 184