“You mean you’d try,” said Ned.
“That’s it,” went on the editor. “I now see that I have no one who could be useful here. I withdraw my request. At least, young man,” he added, turning to Buck, “I have shown my appreciation of your work by complimenting you with the suggestion.”
“What’d you have to do to these things?” persisted Buck, undefeated, after he had blushingly acknowledged his superior’s compliment.
“Something more difficult than multiplying one hundred and eighty by seventeen,” announced Ned with a laugh.
His good natured smile yet showing on his lips, though puckered in chagrin, the disappointed Buck followed the party through the rear cabin door into the next compartment, “Stateroom No. 1.” This little apartment, six feet high, eight feet wide and the same in depth, had a door and a window on each side and the metal frame work of a cot, six feet in length, against the rear wall, the remaining two feet of space being devoted to another door opening into a similar room. The compartment walls were of metal and perfectly bare. Beneath the cot was a metal tank six feet by three feet by three feet, in which fifty-four cubic feet of fuel could be stored.
“There are three of these rooms,” explained Ned. “In each are electric lights, compressed air cocks and exhaust pipes. We’ll put thin mattresses and bed clothing in each.”
“Put in some skeleton tables for typewriters and some camp chairs,” suggested the editor. “I don’t believe the men will have time for sleeping.”
“And the last room, Number three,” went on Ned, “we’ll rig up as a dark room for your photographer.”
Buck could restrain himself no longer. Stepping to his superior’s side he asked appealingly:
“Are you going to send Herald men on this trip?”