"What! Me?" Burt stopped short and stared at his uncle. Mr. Wallace chuckled and lifted one eyebrow.

"Of course, if you don't want to go—" he began.

"Want to!" shouted Burt, careless of the passers-by who were looking at them curiously. "You can bet your life I want to! I'd give a million dollars to go with you!" His face dropped suddenly. "What's the use, Uncle George? You know's well as I do, the folks ain't going to stand for anything like that. Why, dad'd have a fit if he thought I was in Africa. What's the use of dreaming?"

"Here—trot along!" His uncle seized his arm and drew him on toward home. "I guess you're right about that, Burt. Anyhow, you keep mum and let me do the talking. Mind, now, don't you butt in anywhere along the line. I'm dead in earnest, young man. Maybe we'll be able to do something if you lie low and let me handle it. Understand?"

"I understand," replied Burt a trifle more hopefully. "Gee! If I could only go! Could I shoot real lions and elephants, uncle?"

"Dozens of 'em!" laughed Mr. Wallace cheerfully. "Where I want to go there are no game laws to hinder. You'd have a tough time for a while, though. It's not like a camping trip up the Maine coast."

"Oh, shucks!" replied the boy eagerly. "Why, there ain't a boy in the world that wouldn't be crazy to hike with you. They've got to let me go!"

Although nearly bursting with his secret Burt said nothing of it until he returned to the shops that afternoon and joined Critch. Then he was unable to hold in and he poured out the story to his chum. Critch listened in incredulous amazement, which changed to cheerful envy when he found Burt was not joking.

"Why, you dog-goned old bookworm!" he exclaimed when Burt finished. The red-headed boy was genuinely delighted over his chum's good luck. "Think of you out there shootin' your head off, while I'm plugging away here at home! Think your folks'll kick?"

"Of course they will," groaned Burt gloomily. "Ever know a feller to want any fun, without his folks kicking like sin? They like Uncle George a heap, but when it comes to takin' the darlin' boy where he can have a reg'lar circus, it's no go. Darn it, I wish I was grown-up and didn't have any boss!"

"It'll be a blamed shame if they don't let you go, old sport!" agreed Critch with a smile. "But you haven't asked 'em yet. Mebbe they'll come around all right."

"Huh!" grunted Burt sarcastically. "Mebbe I'll find a million dollars in my clothes to-morrow morning! Say—"

"Well? Spit her out!" laughed Critch as Burt paused suddenly.

"S'pose I could work you in on the game!" cried Burt enthusiastically. "That'd help a lot if the folks knew you were going, too, and if your dad would fall for it we might take you as some kind of assistant! I tell you—I'll take you as my personal servant, my valet! How'd that strike you, just for a bluff?"

"Strike me fine," responded Critch vigorously. "I'd be willin' to work my way—"

"Oh, shucks! I didn't mean that. I mean to get your expenses paid that way, see? After we got going—"

"Come out of it!" interrupted Critch. "You talk as if you was really going. Where do you reckon my dad comes in? S'pose he'll stand for any game like that? Not on your life! Dad's figgering on pulling me into the office when school's out."

Burt left for home greatly sobered by the practical common sense of his chum. He was quickly enthusiastic over any project and was apt to be carried away by it, while Critch was just the opposite. None the less, Burt was determined that if it was possible for him to go, his chum should go too.

After dinner that evening while the family was sitting in the library, Mr. Wallace cautiously introduced the subject to Burt's parents. Burt was upstairs in his own room.

"Etta, isn't that boy of yours getting mighty peaked?"

"I'm afraid so," sighed Mrs. St. John anxiously. "But we can't make him give up that scholarship. I'll be glad when school is over next week."

"I guess we'll pack him off with Howard," put in Mr. St. John. "I'll send 'em up the Kennebec on a canoe trip."

"Nonsense!" snorted the explorer. "What the boy needs is something different. Complete change—ocean air—make him forget all about his books for six months!"

"There's a good deal in that, Tom," agreed his sister thoughtfully. "Perhaps if I took him abroad for a month or two—"

"Stop right there!" interrupted the explorer. "Take him abroad, indeed! Tie him to your apron strings and lead him to bang-up hotels? Dress him up every day, stuff him on high-class grub? Nonsense! If you want him to go abroad, for goodness sake give him a flannel shirt and a letter of credit, and let him go. Don't baby him! Give him a chance to develop his own resources. Guess you didn't have any indulgent papa, Tom! All the boy wants is a chance. Why won't you let him have it?"

"Don't be a fool, George!" cautioned his sister, smiling at the outburst. "You know perfectly well that I don't want my boy running wild. He's all we have, and we intend to take care of him. And I warn you right here not to put any of your notions into his head. It's bad enough to have one famous man in the family!"

The explorer laughed and winked at Mr. St. John, who was enjoying the discussion from the shelter of his cigar smoke. At this, however, he came to the aid of his brother-in-law.

"Yes, George is perfectly right, Etta. Burt needs to shift for himself a bit, and I think the Kennebec trip will be just the thing for him if we give him a free hand and let him suit himself. I don't want to send him off to foreign countries all alone."

"Look here, Tom." Mr. Wallace leaned forward and spoke very earnestly. "That kind of a vacation isn't worth much to a good, healthy boy. He wants something he has earned, not something that's shoved at him. Make Burt earn some money while he's having a good time. He'll enjoy it twice as much. Make him pay his own expenses somewhere; do something that will repay him, or get busy on some outdoor stunt that will give him something new and interesting to absorb him. Think it over!"

The conversation ended there for the night. Mr. Wallace was satisfied that he had sown good seed, however, and went up to Burt's room with a smile.

"Hello, uncle!" cried the boy, giving up his chair and flinging himself down on the bed. "Say anything to the folks yet?"

"A little. We'll have to go slow, remember! Now just what do you know about putting up skins and taking them from their rightful owners?"

"Me? Not a whole lot. Let's see. I helped Critch skin an' mount Chuck Evan's bulldog, some birds, a weasel—"

"Hold on!" laughed Mr. Wallace. "That's not what I mean. Know anything about horned animals?"

"No," admitted Burt. "I've read up 'bout 'em though. So's Critch."

"Suppose you had a deer's horns to take off. How'd you do it?"

"Take his skin off by cuttin' straight down the breast to the tail," replied Burt promptly.

"Make cross-cuts down the inside o' each leg an' turn him inside out. For the horns you make a cut between 'em, then back down the neck a little."

"Wouldn't you take his skull?" questioned Mr. Wallace.

"Sure! I forgot that. You'd have to cut between the lids and eye-sockets down to the lips an' cut these from the bone. For the skull, cut her off and boil her."

"Pretty good!" commented his uncle. "I guess you've got the knowledge all right. How'd you do in Africa about the skin?"

"Nothing," grinned Burt. "'Cording to your books you just salt 'em well and ship 'em to the coast."

"All right!" laughed his uncle. "Get those rabbits done up?"

"You bet!" Burt made a wry face. "We rubbed them with arsenic. That's about the only stuff that'll hold them in this weather. We make money though—or Critch does. We've done lots of birds for a dollar each, and we got five for Chuck's bulldog."

"I wish you'd take me over to your friend's home to-morrow night if you've nothing special on," replied Mr. Wallace. "I'd like to have a little chat with him. Are his parents living?"

"His father is, but not his mother. They only live about three blocks down the line. We'll go over after supper."

"Well, I'll go back and write another chapter before going to bed." Mr. Wallace rose and departed. He left Burt wondering. Why did his uncle want to see Critch?

He wondered more than ever the next evening. When they arrived at the small frame house in which Howard and his father lived, Mr. Wallace chatted with the boys for a little and then turned to Mr. Critchfield, a kindly, shrewd-eyed man of forty-five.

"Mr. Critchfield, suppose we send the boys off for a while? I'd like to have a little talk with you if you don't mind."

"All right, uncle," laughed Burt. "We'll skin out. Come on up to the house, Critch."

When they got outside, the red-haired boy's curiosity got the better of him and he asked Burt what his uncle wanted with his father.

"Search me," answered Burt thoughtfully."

"He put me through the third degree yesterday about skinning deer. Next time he gives me a chance I'll ask him about taking you along."

"What!" exclaimed Howard. "Have your folks come around?"

"I don't know. I'm leaving it all to Uncle George. Believe me, they've got to come around or I'll—I'll run away!"

"Yes, I've got a picture o' you running away!" grinned Critch. "Mebbe dad'll tell me what's up when I get home."

But Critch was not enlightened that night nor for many nights thereafter. This was the last week of school and Burt was too busy with his examinations to waste much time speculating on the African trip. Howard was also pretty well occupied, although not trying for any scholarship, and for the rest of the week both boys gave all their attention to school. On Friday evening Burt arrived home jubilantly.

"Done!" he shouted, bursting in on his mother and uncle. "Got it!"

"What, the scholarship? How do you know?" asked his mother in surprise.

"Prof. Garwood tipped me off. Won't get the reg'lar announcement till commencement exercises next week but he says I needn't worry! Hurray! One more year and then Yale for mine!"

"Good boy!" cried Mr. Wallace. "Guess you've plugged for it though. Burt, I'll have that book finished next week. If she goes through all right I'll be off by the end of the month for Africa." He winked meaningly. "Guess I'll take you along."

"What!" exclaimed Mrs. St. John in amazement. "Take him along? Why, George William Wallace, what do you mean?"

"What on earth d'you suppose I mean?" chuckled her brother. "Why shouldn't Burt take his vacation with me if he wants to? Don't you think I am competent to take care of him?"

Burt was quivering with eagerness and his mother hesitated as she caught the anxious light in his eyes. He stood waiting in silence, however.

"George," replied his mother at last, "are you serious about this? Do you really mean—"

"Of course I do!" laughed the explorer confidently. "If I know anything about it, Burt'd come back twice as much a man as he is now. Besides we ought to pull out ahead of the game, because I'm going after ivory."

"Wait till Tom comes home," declared Burt's mother with decision. "We'll talk it over at dinner. You'll have a hard task to convince me that there's any sense in such a scheme, George!"

As her brother was quite aware of that fact he forbore to press the subject just then. A little later Mr. St. John came home from the works and at the dinner table his wife brought up the subject herself.

"Tom, this foolish brother of mine wants to take Burton away to Africa with him next month! Did you ever hear of anything so silly?"

"Don't know about that," replied Mr. St. John, to his son's intense surprise. "It depends on what part of Africa, Etta. You must remember that the world's not so small as it used to be. You can jump on a boat in New York and go to Africa or China or Russia and never have to bother your head about a thing. What's the proposition, George?"

"I've been thinking that it would do Burt a lot of good to go with me to the Congo," answered the explorer. "The sea voyage would set him up in fine shape, and we would keep out of the low lands, you know."

"The Congo!" cried his sister in dismay. "Why, that's where they torture people! Do you—"

"Nonsense!" interrupted Mr. Wallace impatiently. "The Congo is just as civilized as parts of our own country. We can take a steamer at the mouth and travel for thousands of miles by it. I have one recruit from New Britain already, and I'd like to have Burt if you'll spare him."

"Why, who's going from here?" asked Mr. St. John in surprise.

"Young Critchfield," came the reply.