“Polar bear hunting! Cricky, but that’ll be great!” Paul sat up excitedly. “Where’re we going, Mr. Remington? I didn’t pay much attention to what Father said about it. I thought it was just an ordinary yachting trip.”
“You didn’t seem to have much interest in it, coming over on the train,” said Remington, and as he explained the region, the prospective hunting and fishing, and the adventure, Paul forgot his cigarette.
“That’s just the kind of trip I’ve wanted to take all my life,” he exclaimed. “May I shoot too?”
“Yes, I’ve a rifle and a shotgun among my things for you.”
“May I see them? I’ve always been just crazy for a gun!”
“Wait a moment.”
Remington went below and presently returned with a modern high-power rifle and a beautiful double-barreled shotgun. Paul’s eyes sparkled with delight and he listened with close attention while Remington explained their manipulation, with due caution as to their handling. Then he exclaimed:
“Good old Dad! He is a good scout to let me come with you! Ever so many thanks, Mr. Remington. Where are the cartridges?”
“They’re with mine. I’ll get them for you when you need them. You may as well take the guns down to your stateroom, though, when you go.”