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“Well, we’ll see. Here, where’s that other letter? Let’s find out what Mr. Cole says.” He opened the second epistle and glanced through it quickly, his face lighting as he read. “It’s all right!” he cried. “We can have her! Only—” he looked through the brief note again—“only he doesn’t say anything about the price. ‘When you get here we’ll talk over the matter of terms.’ That doesn’t sound encouraging, does it?” Chub looked across at Roy dubiously, and Roy shook his head.

“Not very,” he answered; “but you can’t tell. I guess he will let us down easy. He’s a good sort, is the Floating Artist.”

“Well—” Chub tossed the note aside and went back to Dick Somes’s letter. “‘I suppose her father or mother or some one would have to go along, but that needn’t make much difference. She’s wild to know, so you’d better drop her a line pretty soon and tell her what you think about it. If you don’t she’s likely to explode!’”

“And that’s so, too, I guess!” chuckled Roy. “Say, it would be awfully jolly if we four could get together again this summer, wouldn’t it?”