One rainy afternoon he suddenly turned to the boys and asked:
“Does any one of you happen to know what day of the month this is? By my count it must be somewhere about the twenty-fifth of August.”
“My little calendar,” said Cal, drawing the card from a pocket and looking at it attentively for a moment, “takes the liberty of differing with you in opinion, Mr. Dunbar. It insists that this is the thirty-first day of August, of the year eighteen hundred and eighty-six.”
Dunbar almost leaped to his feet in surprise. After a brief period of thought he turned to Larry and asked:
“I wonder if you boys would mind sailing with me over to the nearest postoffice town early to-morrow morning.”
“Why, you know, Mr. Dunbar,” Larry answered, “to-morrow morning is mortgaged. We’re all going out after that deer you’ve located. Won’t the next day answer just as well for your trip?”
“Unfortunately, no. I gave my word that I would post certain writings and drawings to the publisher not later than noon on September 1, and the printers simply must not be kept waiting. Of course, if you can’t—”
“But we can and will,” answered Larry. “Your business is important—the deer hunt is of no consequence. But you’ll come back with us, will you not?”
“I shall be delighted to do so if I may,” he answered. “I’m enjoying it here with you, and my work never before got on so well with so little toil over it. I shall like to come back with you and stay at Quasi as long as you boys do.”