Dick Darrell was one and Charley Nicholson the other; both were in the employ of the paleontological department of the museum, their duties being to sort out and arrange the bones of the various prehistoric animals found by the agents of the museum in different parts of the United States.
“I’m not after grub just now, Charley,” replied Dick. “Perhaps you don’t know that I’ve been under the weather for the last day or two, but such is the fact. Wasn’t coming down this morning, but I just received a telegram from old Poynter telling me to come at once if I was able to leave my bed.”
“Hello!” cried Charley. “What’s in the wind now, I wonder? Have you drawn another prize?”
“Can’t tell.”
“Great Scott! I only wish it was my luck.”
“Wait a bit. Perhaps I’m going to get the grand bounce.”
“I hardly think that. Oh, I know! You are going to be sent off on some bone hunting expedition or another. A regular picnic. Something that will last all summer. No such luck ever comes my way.”
“You can’t tell. Stick to your work and try to do it the best you possibly can; that’s the thing that brings promotion every time.”
The boys separated inside the employees’ door of the museum, for Charley’s duties called him to the extreme end of the long building, while Dick was bound for Professor Poynter’s office, on the second floor.
That genial old scientist was at his desk busily writing.