“Yes, Mother. I’ve brought Ned and Bob home to lunch.”
“That’s nice. I’ll tell Katie to get things ready for you out in the sun parlor. John is polishing the dining room floor.”
“Anywhere as long as there’s something to eat,” murmured Bob.
And then, a little later, when the Motor Boys were sitting about a well laden table in the pleasant sun parlor of the Hopkins home, their discussion turned upon the letter Jerry had received that morning from Tinnith Mallison, a Westerner, whom they had first met as a congenial officer in the training camp where the lads were mustered out of Uncle Sam’s service.
“Just what is his proposition?” asked Bob, who, having the first sharp edge taken from his appetite, could now give more consideration to other matters. “I didn’t listen very closely when you first read it, Jerry.”
“No, I reckon not—chicken and mushrooms,” murmured Ned.
“Shut up!” ordered Bob, but the words were accompanied by a smile which took all malice from them.
“Well, briefly, Tinny’s proposition is this,” said Jerry, as he took out the letter again. They had become sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Mallison to call him by his nickname. “He wants to interest us in an undeveloped gold mine out West near a place called Thunder Mountain. Why it has that name, I don’t know. Maybe the Indians called it that.”
“If we go out there we can find out why,” put in Ned.
“Say, are you fellows really seriously considering taking up this game?” demanded Bob, pausing with a bite of pie half way to his mouth. And when Bob did any pausing in the process of eating one might safely conclude that he was vitally interested in the subject under discussion.