Peggy took the hint conveyed.
"And we are part of a scientific exploring party," she said.
"College gals, by gee!" breathed Bud in what he thought was an inaudible aside.
"The party is in charge of Mr. James Bell. This is his brother, Mr.
Peter Bell—"
"Glad ter meet yer, I'm sure," said Bud with a low bow as the poet hermit stepped forward.
"I am Miss Margaret Prescott; this is my chum, Miss Bancroft, and there is my aunt, Miss Sally Prescott—"
Peggy, with a perfectly grave face, indicated Miss Prescott's tent, from between the flaps of which that New England lady's spectacled countenance was peering.
"Come out, auntie," she added.
"Oh, Peggy, is it perfectly safe?" queried Miss Prescott anxiously.
"Safe, mum!" exclaimed Bud expansively. "If it was any safer you'd hav ter send fer ther perlice. Jes becos we're rough and ain't got on full evenin' dress you musn't think we're dangerous, mum," he went on more gravely. "I'll warrant you'll fin' better fellers right here on ther alkali than on Fit' Avenoo back in New York."