Publisher's Synopsis
"Here, Harry, catch hold." "Ouch-I dropped that cartridge box on my pet corn." "Say, you fellows, are we going to Africa or are we on a Coney Island picnic?" "Be serious now, Billy Barnes, you may be all right as a reporter, but as a shipping clerk you're no more good than a cold storage egg." "Well, I'm doing the best I can," was the indignant reply, "here-I've got it all down: Box 10- One waterproof tent, one rubber-blanket, tent-pegs, ropes, more ropes.-Say, Frank, what in the name of the 'London Times' and jumping horn-toads do you want so much rope for?" "To tie up a certain young reporter named William Barnes when he gets too fresh," was the laughing reply. The three boys sat about a heaped, confused collection of ammunition, cooking-utensils, rifles, and camp "duffle" in general, one evening late in May. The eldest of the group, a sunny-faced, clear eyed lad of about sixteen, held in his hand a notebook from which he called out the inventory of the articles piled about him as his brother, a youth of fourteen, sorted them out.
