“Yes, it’s a special party—a couple o’ congressmen and their wives and families. The Park superintendent wants me to show ’em around the circuit a bit—have to be nice to congressmen, because Congress appropriates what little money we get to build trails with. All the camp cooks are out on trips now, and I’m up against it unless you’ll go along.”
“I’m your man!” Joe cried, eagerly.
“Well, you’re as good as a man when it comes to coffee,” Mills grinned. “I’ll get a guide to help out with the packing and the heavy work. We start to-morrow morning, early. Be up here at seven.”
“O.K.,” cried Joe, with a salute, and hurried back to tell Tom the news.
Spider looked grave. “I dunno about it,” said he. “You know what the doc said about overworking. I dunno whether I’ll let you go.”
“But it won’t be overworking,” Joe cried. “Gee, I feel great now, anyhow, and it’s just cooking, and the Ranger’s going to get a guide to do the heavy packing, and I’ll be on horseback all the time, and out in the air, and, gosh, but it’s a great chance to see the Park, and earn some money to pay you back——”
“Oh, forget that!” said Tom. “What’s your pay going to be?”
“Don’t know—didn’t stop to ask,” Joe laughed.
“You’re a great little business man, you are,” Tom said. “Well, you can try it this trip, if you’ll come over now to the hotel and get weighed, and have your temperature taken.”
The hikers had gone for the day, and the camp was vacant, so the two scouts went around to the hotel at once, and Joe climbed on the scales. Tom set them at a hundred and thirty, but the weight did not drop. He moved the indicator weight pound by pound till he reached a hundred and thirty-nine, before he reached a balance.