Part 25 (2/2)

”Finally it was settled that the wager should be along these lines,” Mr.

Milton went on to say; ”I was to write the letter I did, and which was partly dictated by Marcus himself. Then later, he was to meet you on the trip, and in some way manage to accompany you, in spite of my request that you take no pa.s.sengers, and least of all the man called Marcus Stackpole. If he was aboard the boat when you came into New Orleans, with or without your knowledge, I was to lose; but if he found himself unable to get aboard, or stay there to the end after making a lodgment, Marcus was to admit that he was beaten. That's the story in a nutsh.e.l.l.”

”Then you must have heard from him, sir,” remarked Frank; ”how we finally left him behind at Memphis, after penetrating his disguise?”

”Yes, he wrote me about it, and here is his letter. Let me read it to you, for it is really very short; and afterwards you're to spend hours telling me everything that happened from the hour you left St. Paul up to the time you landed here in New Orleans.”

”Agreed, Uncle!” cried the delighted Will.

So Uncle Felix, with many chuckles, as though he thoroughly enjoyed the affair, especially the way it terminated, opened a crumpled sheet of paper, and read aloud:

”After all my boasting in previous letters how cleverly I was hoodwinking those wonderfully smart boys of yours, Felix, blessed if they didn't see my lead, and go me one better. Here I am, stranded in Memphis, with ten dollars thrust into my pocket, and a note telling me that they are on to my little game, and bidding me good-by. No use trying to deceive them again, and I own up beaten. They're a fine, manly lot of young chaps, and I've grown to love them as if they were my own boys during the time I've been watching them. Just now I must chase across to Chattanooga to settle a matter that had been suddenly thrust upon me; but if they are still with you in Orleans when I get there, it will be the greatest pleasure of my life to renew my acquaintance with Frank, Jerry, Bluff, and not forgetting your nephew Will.

”Your old campmate,

_”Marcus Stackpole.”_

By this time all the boys wore wide grins, just as though they felt like shaking hands with each other, in congratulation over the fact that, after all their narrow escapes, they had in the end caused this friend of Uncle Felix to lose his wager.

And they were still in the strange old city of the lower Mississippi at the time Marcus Stackpole, whom they had known as Luther Snow, arrived.

All of them were very glad to meet him again, for, as has been mentioned more than once, the boys realized that there had been something attractive about the pa.s.senger who came to them in such a singular way.

Many were the laughs that went around, when the story was retold; especially as Frank related how he set a little trap for Luther, to find out whether he had ever been a carpenter; because his hands looked too free from calloused spots, such as might have been expected upon the palms of one who had to earn his daily bread at carpenter work.

”That's a good one on you, Marcus,” declared Uncle Felix; ”the idea of you choosing that vocation on the spur of the moment, when you are the poorest joiner I ever knew. No wonder a sharp lad, like Frank here, could trip you up. But on the whole, I think you have all enjoyed your vacation immensely; and you'll go back to college more than willing to work because of the good time you've had; eh, boys?”

Upon that they were all agreed, and there was no hesitation about telling Uncle Felix so.

”Perhaps, when your next vacation comes around, we can have something else hatched up that will give you an equal amount of pleasure,” the other continued, for it was evident that he had become very fond of Will and his chums during the week they had been with him.

And the reader may be sure that if fortune is so kind as to allow the Outdoor Chums further chances to enjoy an adventurous trip like those they have known in the past it will give us pleasure to write of the occasion, so that a host of friends may enjoy it with us. Until such time comes, then, we must say good-by.

THE END

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