“That’s the idea,” Tom said. “We’re just as welcome to use all three camps as one. They’re all about alike, each with a log cabin, nicely fitted up, set in the midst of the big woods.” “That’s jolly!” cried Bert. “And aren’t the men themselves going to use them?” George wanted to know. Again he went unrebuked. “Not this season,” Tom Fairfield explained. “The club is sort of broken up for the time being. Some of the men want to go, but they can’t get enough together to make a party, so they had to give up their annual holiday outing this year. “A business friend of my father’s belongs to the club, and he mentioned to Dad that there was a chance for someone to use the camps. Dad happened to speak of it to me, and I--well, you can imagine what I did! I jumped at the chance, and now you know almost as much as I do about it. “I’ll tell you later just where the camps are, and how we are to get to them. We want to get together and have a talk about what we’ll take with us. School closes here day after to-morrow, and then we’ll be free for nearly a month.” “And won’t we have some ripping old times, though!” cried Jack. “Well, I should say yes!” chimed in Bert. “Tell you what let’s do, fellows!” broke in George. “Let’s go up to the top of that hill and have a coast. Some of our lads from Elmwood are there with the bobs, and they’ll give us a ride. I’ve had enough of skating.” “So have I,” chimed in Jack. “I’m with you,” agreed Bert, stooping to loosen his skates, an example followed by Tom Fairfield. “I hope this snowy weather holds,” spoke Jack. “But are you allowed to shoot game when there is tracking snow?” “I don’t just know all the rules,” said Tom, “but of course we will do what is right. I guess we’ll have plenty of snow in the mountains, and cold weather, too.” “It’s getting warm here,” observed Bert. “Too warm,” for the variable New Jersey climate had changed from freezing almost to thawing in the night, and the boys were really taking advantage of the last bit of skating they were likely to have in some time. There were not many besides themselves on the ice of the lake when they started from it, heading for the big hill not far away--a hill whereon the youth of Elmwood Hall, a boarding school near the Jersey state capital, had many jolly times. When Tom Fairfield and his chums, talking about the camping and hunting trip in prospect, reached the hill, they found it deserted--that is, by all save a few small town boys with their little sleds. “No coasting to-day,” observed Jack, ruefully. “No, it’s getting too soft,” added Bert, digging his foot into the snowy surface of the hill. But the small boys did not mind that. With the big lads out of the way, smaller fry had a chance. George Abbot picked up a handful of snow and rolled it into a ball. As he noticed how well it packed, he exclaimed: “Say, fellows, another idea!” “Ha! He’s full of ’em to-day!” laughed Jack.