“Why—yes,” returned Bob, after a moment of hesitation. “Yes, the weather’s swell so far. I sure hope we don’t run into a tropical storm.”
“A what?” The slender young man turned a shade paler. “Did you say storm?”
“Yes,” returned Bob, inwardly amused. “I heard the captain talking this morning. He seemed to think there’s a chance of striking a hurricane.”
“Goodness gracious!” cried the strange young man. “That would simply be horrible. Could there not be something done about it?”
“Well—” Bob hesitated—“I don’t know of anything. Just have to go through it, I suppose. But perhaps after all there won’t anything happen. I’d like to to reach port under a clear sky.”
“And so would I, my dear chap. Are you seeking pleasure by traveling?”
“To a certain extent we are,” Bob answered him. “My chum here and myself are with our dads to collect specimens of animal life and photograph the country,” he explained. “Holton is my name—Bob Holton. This is Joe Lewis.”
“Most delighted to know you,” said the white-faced youth. “Cecil Purl Stone is my name. A real pleasure to know you. I’m—traveling just for the fun of it,” he said with a foolish little laugh. “I do consider travel as one of the most gorgeous ways of enlightening oneself. It is—so very amusing,” and he laughed again, this time even more girlishly.
“Yes, it is,” said Joe, keeping back a smile. “But the fact is, Bob and I won’t have much time for travel in the true sense of the word. We’ll be too busy hunting and photographing.”
“Hunting? Gracious sakes! Don’t tell me you are permitted to carry firearms!”