"I'll be only too glad, Mr. Mitchon, if I can," answered the boy readily, eager to show his appreciation of his friend's kindness.
"That's a great snipe country you're going to, and I'm very fond of snipe. I wish you would send me a couple of brace. You organize a snipe-shoot while Roger's with you, won't you, Mr. Field?"
"Well, I'll try, anyway," answered the surveyor, "and we'll do the best we can to give you a feast."
Mitchon nodded and disappeared down the hall, and Field turned to the boy.
"Roger, your name is, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Mitchon seems to think you're quite a shot."
"I've done a little shooting, Mr. Field, but I wouldn't like to call myself a crack shot."
"That's all right. Much better not to brag. If Mr. Mitchon wants snipe we'll go out some night and get him so many that he won't know what to do with them."
Roger's eyes glistened at the thought of a night shoot in a country where birds were so plentiful, and he began to congratulate himself that the Survey was just as good as he had expected, and even better.