And amid a medley of shouts and frantic wavings of handkerchiefs the long train rumbled away, northward bound.
Randolph Burton made his way into the car, followed by his cousin Tom and their chum Fred Seacomb. Randolph had just passed his Sophomore examination successfully at Harvard, while Tom was rejoicing over his admission to the Freshman class, with only one condition. Fred was a pupil in a scientific school at Philadelphia. He was as dignified and scrupulously neat as ever, and his eyeglasses twinkled as of old.
“Where are the girls?” inquired Randolph, turning to Tom.
The car was filled with passengers, all talking at once, and besieging the porter with questions.
“In our ‘drawing-room,’ at the other end of the car,” replied Tom. “You know father and mother have a jolly little room all to themselves, but we shall use it as headquarters, the whole way to Vancouver.”
“Thomas alludes to Vancouver as if it were East Somerville or Braintree,” remarked Fred, eying that young man calmly. “How many times did you say you had crossed the Continent?”
“Don’t you concern yourself about me,” rejoined Tom. “If you’d ground up on this trip as I have, perhaps you’d feel on familiar terms with Assiniboia and Saskatchewan and”—
“Oh! here he comes, talking Indian as usual,” interrupted a merry voice. “Randolph and Fred are with him.”
“Glad to see you, Miss Sibley!” said Fred, with his most elegant bow.
“Oh! please,” laughed the sunny-haired girl, “I’m going to be just ‘Pet’ on this trip, any way. I sha’n’t be seventeen till November, you know.”