“Has this camp any name?” asked the enthusiastic Margery, in the course of the conference.
“That’s about your twenty-seventh question, miss,” said Peter, “but it’s one I can answer. Yes, it’s got a name. It’s called Camp Rob.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Margery, in a disappointed tone. “What a name!”
“Yes,” said Peter, “it isn’t much of a name. The first people who went out there named it that, and it stuck to it, and it’s all it’s got. Camps are like horses—we’ve got to tell them apart, and so we give them names, and that’s Camp Rob.”
CHAPTER IV
A CATARACT OF INFORMATION
Peter Sadler would have been glad to have the Archibald party stay at his hotel for a few days, and Mrs. Archibald would have been perfectly satisfied to remain there until they were ready to return to their own house, but her husband and Margery were impatient to be in the woods, and it was therefore decided to start for the camp the next day. Peter Sadler was a man of system, and his arrangements were made promptly and rapidly.
“You’ve got to have a guide,” said he, “and another man to help him, and I think I’ll give you Phil Matlack. Phil is an old hand at the business, and if you don’t know what you want, he’ll tell you. If you are in Phil’s hands, you needn’t be afraid anything will happen to you. Whatever you want, ask him for it, and ten to one he’ll have it, whether it’s information or fishhooks. I tell you again, you’re lucky to be here early and get the best of everything. Camp Rob with Phil Matlack will stand at a premium in three or four weeks from now.”