“Well, you’ll have to give me a chance to talk then,” Mr. McClaren came back patiently. “And Dick hasn’t guessed what the proposition is. It’s not as profitable as lost mines or buried treasure, nor as dangerous as hunting outlaws, but more entertaining than hunting missing men. There’s money in it, some excitement and a chance to make good with one of the greatest organizations in the world.”
Dick and Sandy were begging now, for their interest certainly had been intrigued. So engrossed had they become in what the proposition was going to be that they even forgot to eat, sitting there with their mouths open and loaded fork half suspended.
“The proposition is this,” the factor stated. “I’m thinking of starting a branch fur-trading post near Great Slave Lake and I need some enterprising ambitious men to help out. There’s some bad competition—a free trader in that region, but I think he’ll be some careful what he does to any of the Hudson’s Bay Company men.”
“Gee, do you want us to be fur-traders?” Sandy interrogated.
“That’s about the size of it, boys,” Sandy’s uncle replied. “I’m sending one man up who is an expert on furs, and there’ll be a mounted police post established there. You boys can help with the trading, and can hunt and fish and trap all you like. It will be a real vacation from the hard job you had in the Arctic.”
“It’s beginning to look good to me already,” Dick spoke eagerly. “What do you say, Sandy?”
“I’m for it if you are,” replied Dick’s chum, “and we can take Toma along.”
The young Indian who had remained impassive during the conversation, brightened at Sandy’s words and his dusky face was split by a huge grin. He had been afraid of being left out of the plans and was now much relieved.
The factor signaled the old Indian housekeeper. “Pour us all some more coffee,” he directed. “I’m going to propose a toast.”
Dick and Sandy exchanged glances. What was the toast going to be, they wondered.