"Fourteen million!" snorted Luke Watson. "You had better say about fourteen! Shadow tells the same stories over and over again." "Say, that puts me in mind of a story!" cried the youth mentioned, his face lighting up. "Once on a time there was a--" "Oh, my, Shadow! are you going to start right away?" demanded Dave, with a broad grin on his face. "Can't you give a fellow a chance to catch his breath? This is a great surprise--meeting you three on my way to the city. And to think we are going to be together in one of the parlor cars, too!" "Oh, you can't lose the Oak Hall boys!" cried Buster. "Say, let me tell you something," he went on. "Luke has written a song about Oak Hall that is about the finest thing I ever heard." "It ought to be if it mentions us," answered Dave, with a boldness that took away much of the conceit. "Say, you haven't let me tell that story!" interrupted Shadow, with a disconcerted look on his thin face. "Now, as I was saying, there was once a--" "Not now, Shadow!" "You can tell it on the way to New York!" "Provided the conductor will give you written permission." "Not much!" returned the would-be story-teller. "If I can't tell that story now, I'm going to be mum forever." He suddenly looked at Dave. "What is taking you to New York?" he inquired. "I'm on my way to Texas," answered Dave, and then told his former classmates of how he and Roger had passed the preliminary examination as civil engineers and of how they were now going to take up field work in the Lone Star State. "Say, that's great!" exclaimed Buster, in admiration. "I wish I was going to do something like that." "So do I," added Luke, while Shadow nodded in assent. The other lads had many questions to ask, and in return told Dave much about themselves. In the midst of the conversation the express train for the metropolis rolled in and the four youths lost no time in clambering aboard. They found their seats with ease, and quickly settled themselves. "That's a fierce loss that the Basswoods sustained," remarked Luke. "I read all about it in the newspapers. That fellow, Ward Porton, must be a peach." "I should say he was a lemon so far as Dave was concerned," said Buster, with a slow wink of his eye. "Speaking of peaches puts me in mind of another story," cried Shadow. "A man had a tree in his garden and--" "Oh, Shadow, why this infliction!" "Have we really got to listen?" "How much will you pay us if we keep still until you have finished?" "Yes, you've got to listen, and I won't pay you a cent for it, either," retorted the would-be story-teller. "This is a short one. A man had a fruit-tree in his garden, and he told a friend of his that he got three kinds of fruit from it. His friend didn't believe it, so he told his friend: 'Why, it was dead easy. I went out in the garden to pick an apple. I picked one, and then I picked a pair. One was no good, but another was a peach.'" "Wow! listen to that!"