“Yes, and break my best set of china,” added Aunt Josephine. “Oh, Jack, take them away, please!”
“All right,” exclaimed Jack. “I’ll give you a correct imitation of Marinello Booghoobally, alias Hemp Smith, making things disappear. Catch hold, Nat, and we’ll take them out to our private office,” and with his chum’s aid Jack had soon removed the offending packages to a loft over the barn, which he had fitted up as a sort of clubroom.
“Now, Jack, be careful,” cautioned Mr. Ranger as he saw his son busily engaged. “You know the danger of firearms.”
“Sure, dad. Say, I wish you were going hunting with us. Why can’t you?”
“I had enough of the West,” remarked Mr. Ranger, as he thought of his enforced stay there for many years. “I’m not going back. You brought me home, Jack, and I’m going to stay East. But I hope you have a good time.”
“I guess we will, if Jack has anything to do with it,” remarked Nat. “Say, Jack, that’s a dandy gun.”
“Pretty fair,” observed our hero, as he brought to view a fine new rifle, which he had sent for.
There was also a shotgun in the outfit, and many other things to be used on the trail and in camp. Nat’s eyes showed his admiration.
“Jumping jillflowers!” he exclaimed, “but you are certainly doing this up good and brown, Jack.”
“Yes, I don’t like anything half done. It’s bad for the digestion. You’ve got a gun, haven’t you?”