Major Hampton exchanged cordial greetings and expressed his great pleasure at finding his two young friends together. Accepting the invitation to be seated, he drew his meerschaum from his pocket and proceeded to fill from a tobacco pouch made of deer skin.
“My dear Mr. Jones and’ Mr. Warfield,” he began, “where have you been all through the winter?”
“For myself, right here doing chores about twelve hours per day,” answered Roderick.
“As for me,” said Grant, “I have been way over ‘yonder’ editing the Dillon Doublejack. I have fully a score of subscribers who would have been heartbroken if I had missed a single issue. I snow-shoed in to Encampment once, but your castle was locked and nobody seemed to know where you had gone, Major.”
Jones had again laughed good-naturedly over the limited circulation of his paper. Major Hampton smiled, while Roderick observed that there was nothing like living in a literary atmosphere.
“If your circulation is small your persistence is certainly commendable,” observed the Major, looking benignly at Jones but not offering to explain his absence from Encampment when Jones had called. “I have just paid my respects,” he went on, “to Mr. and Mrs. Shields and their lovely daughters, and learned that you were also visiting these hospitable people. My errand contemplated calling upon Mr. Warfield as well. I almost feel I have been neglected. The latchstring hangs on the outside of my door for Mr. War-field as well as for you, Mr. Jones.”
“Many thanks,” observed Roderick.
“Your compliment is not unappreciated,” said Grant. “When do you return to Encampment?”
“Immediately after luncheon,” replied the Major.
“Very well, I will go along with you,” said Grant. “I came over on my skis.”