Chub, reclining at full length on Dick’s bed, groaned dismally. “‘Strenuous’ is a much over-worked word, Roy,” he said, “but it certainly applies to you. Just when I’m beginning to feel comfortable you ask me to get up and walk! _Walk!_ If you’d said ride, now--” “Well, let’s,” said Dick. “Let’s get on the top of one of those silly Fifth Avenue stages and bump uptown. It’s lots of fun, honest; you think every minute that the fool thing’s going to topple over!” “What joy!” murmured Chub. “Let us go. I’m the neat little toppler. Besides, maybe it will help settle my luncheon and give me an appetite for dinner.” “Great Scott!” exclaimed Roy. “You’re not thinking about dinner already are you?” “I’m thinking of nothing else,” responded Chub. “Hang it, you fellows don’t seem to realize that I’ve got two months of starvation to make up for! Come on and let us topple.” But although they went to the end of the route in both directions the coach failed to turn over, but there were several occasions when Chub screamed with delight and told the others that the moment was at hand. “Now we’re going!” Chub cried. “Stand back, men! Women and children first!” And when the danger was over he shook his head disappointedly. “I shall ask for my money back,” he declared warmly. “What kind of service do you call this, anyway? Here I am out for a pleasant afternoon topple and nothing doing! I believe I could have some one arrested for this.” He looked darkly about him in search of a victim. “The first policeman I see I shall make complaint to. It’s an outrage, a perfect outrage!” But when they reached Roy’s house the prospect of dinner had restored his good-humor. Dick dined with them, and in the evening they went to the theater. Theoretically it is a simple matter to journey from New York to Loving’s Landing. Actually it is much more difficult, especially when you mistake the train as the three did the next forenoon and find yourself hurrying off in quite the wrong direction. By the time they were able to get out of that train they had wasted fourteen miles. By the time they were back in the station, ready to start over again, they had squandered nearly three quarters of an hour. Roy was inclined to be angry, laying the blame, by some remarkable method of reasoning, on the railroad company. “What did that fellow tell us Track 12 for?” he asked irascibly. “There, there,” said Chub soothingly, “don’t waste your time trying to find out why anybody does anything in a railroad station. They have laws of their own, Roy, laws that you and I will never comprehend. It was our fault. We ought to know by this time that no one in a station ever tells the truth on any subject. I’ll just bet you that if I go over there and ask that gateman how to get to Loving’s Landing he will tell me all wrong.” “Well, we’ve got to ask someone,” said Dick, “and it might as well be him. He looks as intelligent as most of them I’ve seen.”