“You didn’t seem to have much interest in it, coming over on the train,” said Remington, and as he explained the region, the prospective hunting and fishing, and the adventure, Paul forgot his cigarette. “That’s just the kind of trip I’ve wanted to take all my life,” he exclaimed. “May I shoot too?” “Yes, I’ve a rifle and a shotgun among my things for you.” “May I see them? I’ve always been just crazy for a gun!” “Wait a moment.” Remington went below and presently returned with a modern high-power rifle and a beautiful double-barreled shotgun. Paul’s eyes sparkled with delight and he listened with close attention while Remington explained their manipulation, with due caution as to their handling. Then he exclaimed: “Good old Dad! He is a good scout to let me come with you! Ever so many thanks, Mr. Remington. Where are the cartridges?” “They’re with mine. I’ll get them for you when you need them. You may as well take the guns down to your stateroom, though, when you go.” “I guess I’ll go now, and unpack my things.” “Very well. The steward will show you your room. You’ll find everything there. Abner,” turning to a bareheaded young sailor clad in blue flannel shirt, with sleeves rolled up, and trousers tucked into the tops of high sealskin boots, who was standing near the companionway, “this is Master Densmore. Will you show him to his room? Abner is the steward, Paul.” “Yes, sir; this way, sir,” answered Abner, respectfully. “He seems interested,” remarked Ainsworth when Paul had gone below. “I’m inclined to think he’s a pretty good fellow at heart after all. Just spoiled.” “That’s so,” agreed Remington. A moment later Paul reappeared from the companionway, and asked: “Where are my trunks, Mr. Remington? The steward took me to a room he insists is mine, but my trunks aren’t there; just some canvas bags. Guess he’s trying to put me in the wrong room.” “I left your trunks ashore, Paul.” “Ashore! Why, all my things are in them! I can’t go without them! I’ve no clothes with me!” “The canvas bags contain all the clothes you’ll need. Look through them and see what you think of the outfit. Your father selected them.” “But my cigarettes! I packed them in one of the trunks!” “I’m afraid you’ll have to do without them. You’ll find you can shoot straighter if you don’t smoke. Cigarettes knock a fellow’s nerves all out, you know.” “This is rum!” exclaimed the angry lad. “No cigarettes! Well, I’ll go down and see the stuff.” “You’d better put on one of the warm suits you’ll find in your bags, Paul,” suggested Remington. “We’re getting out to sea, and it’ll be chilly on deck.” Paul vouchsafed no reply, but he profited by the advice, and donned a complete new outfit of clothing suited to his surroundings. “Look like a dago laborer, don’t I?” he asked Remington, whom he met at his stateroom door half an hour later. “You look comfortably dressed,” was the reply. “You see I’ve adopted similar clothes.”