“Wonderful!” Barry admitted. “You’re a great organizer, Charlie. Where are we going on this ride?”
“I still have Potter’s Mill in mind. What do you think?—Oh, that’s my dog. I call him Castor Oil!”
A large, flop-eared animal had come bounding into the den and jumped up on the leather couch where Barry was sitting. Before the boy could move, the dog had shot out a big red tongue and licked his face. Barry ducked and hastily brushed his hand over his cheek.
“Get down, Castor!” commanded Charlie, sternly, and the dog obeyed in a clumsy manner.
“What do you call him Castor Oil for?” Barry demanded.
“Because he is a big nuisance, follows me around and jumps on people. He’s about as welcome as Castor Oil. I don’t like to take him places. One day I was thinking up a name for him, and at the same time I was thinking that I didn’t like to take him around with me. I tried to think of something else I don’t like to take, and then the name just came by itself, somehow. Good name, eh?”
“Well, about the kind of name I’d expect you to give,” grunted Barry. “But to get back to business, how about taking our party up to Bluff Lodge, on Lake Arrowtip? It is a dandy place, and we could stay all night. I got permission from Mrs. Morganson to use the lodge, if we want to.”
“Humph! That’s the haunted house, isn’t it?”
“Well, the four of us camped in it a few days, and there is nothing the matter with us,” Barry replied.
“That sounds like a good place to go,” Charlie nodded, gently pulling the big ears of the dog with the questionable name. “What kind of a looking place is it?”