George was a poor traveler and knew it. Storm smiled.
“Do you remember that old hunting lodge up on Silver Run where we camped when we went fishing one year a good while ago? I happen to know that it has been unoccupied for several seasons, and I wired to the owners to borrow it. Pierre, my old guide, lives only about twenty miles away, at Three Forks Carry, and I sent a telegram to him to go and get it ready for us. Here are the replies.” Storm produced two of the messages and handed them across the table. “The others were to fellows whose camps I thought we might use if the lodge wasn’t available, but they are all occupied.”
“It sounds good,” George said slowly as he passed the telegrams back. “But did you arrange for this Pierre to stay and look out for us? You know you are not much on roughing it, and I—I’m getting confoundedly fat!”
“Lazy dub!” Storm jeered. Then his tone grew pleading, although he could feel his face flushing, in spite of himself, beneath the other’s candid, inquiring gaze. “That’s just it! We don’t want Pierre, or anyone. That was the trouble with all those places you suggested; they were too civilized, too popular. I don’t want to go and live at a club or farmhouse and whip up a stream where you are likely to meet a dozen other fishermen in a day! I don’t even want to have a guide fussing around; I want to be just alone with you. I thought if we could get away absolutely by ourselves and tramp and fish and do our own bit of cooking and sleep out in the open on the ground if we felt like it, that it would be immense!”
He paused, waiting with keen anxiety for the reply. Would George rise to the bait?
“You’ve caught any number of fish, but did you ever clean ’em?” the other asked doubtfully at length. “You know you hate cold water, and the last time we went to the Reel and Rifle Club you kicked like a steer because the beds were so hard——”
“Oh, if you want modern plumbing and silver platters, don’t come; that’s all!” Storm interrupted in well simulated disgust. He had detected the signs of yielding in George’s manner and knew that the way was clear. “I tell you I really want to go back to primitive things. I’m sick of the world and everything in it! I wish I had stuck to my original plan and thrown over everything here and gone out to the East——”
“All right!” George exclaimed hurriedly. “I was only thinking of you. I would like it first rate, and this Pierre of yours says that the bass are running fine! Only, if you come back with sciatica from this open air sleeping stunt, don’t blame me! I shall take a hammock!”
“Good old sport! I was sure you would see it my way. We’ll have the time of our lives!” Storm touched the bell. “Homachi, bring our coffee in a hurry, will you, and whatever else you have? We’ve got to be off!”
“Off where?” George betrayed symptoms of anxiety. “I thought we were going to pack!”