“Glad to meet you, I’m sure,” grinned Parry. “At present we are traveling rather unconventionally on horseback, with a little burro to help us carry our stuff. Passing this old ranch, about sundown, en route to the town yonder,” he waved his hand toward the south, “and, being rather weary, after a long day in the saddle, the idea struck us that we might stop here for the night. The door wasn’t fastened, you know. Our horses are back there in the stable.”
“You’re most welcome, I’m sure,” declared Bob, heartily.
“Thanks.”
“And say, maybe we weren’t surprised when all these evidences of civilization struck our eyes,” laughed Parry. “Both the professor and I thought somebody would be moseying along pretty soon, but we never expected——”
“Of course you didn’t,” broke in Tom, a bit scornfully. “Nobody ever does. The idea—a pack of kids out on the plains at this time of night; why—— Sir”—he swung around to face the older man who had addressed him—“shall I tell you who we are, and where we come from?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down, fellows,” grinned Dave; “here’s where the history of the Rambler Club is wound off once more.”
Dave was quite right. Tom’s lips lost their sarcastic droop as he plunged ahead, and, for fully half an hour, his deep-toned voice held almost undisputed sway. At the last, pleased with the exclamation of surprise, and the brief comments which occasionally punctuated his words, he drew from his breast pocket a well-bethumbed copy of “The Kingswood High School Reflector.” “That’s published in our home town,” he explained loftily. “There’s an account in it, too, of some of the adventures of the club written by Dave Brandon, our historian.”
“Parry, how dreadful it would have been if we had missed all this!” laughed the lecturer, glancing over the sheet, which Tom placed in his hand. “Dear me, I’m glad I never lost the faculty of being surprised.”
“I’ll never get over this,” chuckled Parry. “You’ll have to put this crowd into your next lecture, Professor. Now you chaps will get some fame!”