"Critch!" shouted Burt, unable to restrain his amazement. His parents looked equally incredulous and Mr. Wallace explained with a smile.

"Yes, Howard Critchfield. You see, I'd like to bring back some skins and things but I detest the beastly work of getting them off and putting them in shape. So when I found that Critch was no slouch at taxidermy and only needed the chance, it occurred to me to take him along. I saw his father about it and proposed to pay all his expenses and a small salary. Mr. Critchfield came around after a little. He saw that it would be a splendid education for the boy—would give him a knowledge of the world and would develop him amazingly."

"Why didn't Critch tell me about it?" cried Burt indignantly.

"He didn't know!" laughed his uncle. "His father and I agreed that we'd let him get safely through school without having other things to think of. Now look at the thing sensibly, you folks. We wouldn't be away longer than six months at most. Burt would be in far more danger in his canoe on the Kennebec than in a big steamer on the Congo."

"But after you leave the steamer? You can't shoot ivory from the boat, I presume," protested Mr. St. John.

"And what about snakes and savage tribes?" put in his wife.

"My dear Etta," replied the explorer patiently, "we will be near few savage tribes. I might almost say that there are none. As for snakes, I've seen only three deadly ones in all the years I've spent in Africa. After we leave the steamer, Tom, we'll get out of the jungles into the highlands. Burt stands just as much chance of getting killed here as there. An auto might run over him any day, a mad dog might bite him or a chimney might fall on him!"

For all his anxiety Burt joined heartily in the laugh that went up at his uncle's concluding words. The laughter cleared the somewhat tense situation, and the discussion was carried into the library. Burt saw, much to his relief, that his father was not absolutely opposed to the trip, although his mother seemed anxious enough.

"Now give us your proposition, George," said his father as they settled down around the table. "What's your definite idea about it?"

"Good! Now we're getting down to cases!" cried the explorer with a smile at his sister. "Burt, get us that large atlas over there." Burt had the atlas on the table in an instant. "Let's see—Africa—here we are. Get around here, folks!" As he spoke Mr. Wallace pulled out a pencil and pointed to the mouth of the Congo River.

"Here's the mouth of the Congo, you see. Here we step aboard one of the State steamers. These are about like the steamers plying between New York and Boston. Following the Congo up and around for twelve hundred miles, roughly speaking, we come to the Aruwimi river. Up this—and here we are at Yambuya, the head of navigation on the Aruwimi. From here we'll go on up by boat or launch for three or four hundred miles farther, then strike off after elephants."

"But how do you get down there in the first place?" asked Mr. St. John, who seemed keenly interested.

"Any way you want to!" returned the explorer. "There are lines running to Banana Point or Boma, the capital, from Antwerp, Lisbon, Bordeaux, Hamburg, or from England. We'll probably go from England though."

"My gracious!" said Burt's mother. "I had no idea that the Congo was so near civilization as all that! Are there real launches away up there in the heart of Africa?"

"Launches? Automobiles, probably!" laughed her husband.

"Of course," agreed Mr. Wallace. "There are motor trucks in service at several points. We could even take the trip by railroad if we wished, and we'll telegraph you direct when we reach there!"

"Well that's news to me!" declared Mr. St. John. "I thought that Central Africa was a blank wilderness filled with gorillas and savages. Seems to me I remember something about game laws in Roosevelt's book. How about that?"

"There are stringent laws in Uganda and British East Africa," replied Mr. Wallace. "But I intend to depend on trade more than on shooting for my ivory. Now look at this Makua river that runs west, up north of the Aruwimi. I'm not going to take any chances on being held up at Boma after getting out. There are several trading companies who'd be tickled to death to let me bring out a bunch of ivory and then rob me of it at the last minute. So we're going right up to the Makua and down that river to the French Congo. I've got a mighty strong pull with the French people ever since they made me a Commander of the Legion of Honor for my Sahara explorations."

"I see." Burt's father gazed at the map reflectively then looked up with a sudden smile. "You say 'we' as if it was all settled, George!"

"Oh, I was talking about young Critchfield and myself," laughed the explorer. "Come now, Etta, doesn't it sound a whole lot more reasonable than it did at first?"

"Yes," admitted his sister. "I must say it does. Especially if it is all so civilized as you say."

"Now look here." Mr. Wallace bent over the map again and traced down the Congo to Stanley Falls. "A railroad runs from here over to the Great Lakes, at Mahagi on the Albert Nyanza. The Great Lakes are all connected and have steamer lines on them, so that you can get on a train or boat at the west coast and travel right through to the east coast just like going from New York to Duluth. Get me?"

"Why," exclaimed Burt, "I thought you had to have porters and all that? Can you just hop on a train and shoot?"

"Not exactly," laughed his uncle. "When we leave the Aruwimi we'll probably take a hundred bearers with us."

"Well, it's not a question that we can decide on the spur of the moment," annournced Mrs. St. John. "We'll talk it over, George. If conditions are as you say, perhaps—"

"Hurray!" burst out her son excitedly. "You've got to give in, dad! Mother's on our side!" And Burt darted off to find his chum.

"The fact that you've won over Mr. Critchfield counts a good deal," smiled Mr. St. John as the door slammed. "He's a solid, level-headed chap and, besides, I really think it might do Burt good."

Burt found his chum in a state of high excitement. Critch's father had just told him about Mr. Wallace's proposal and his own qualified consent.

"I'll have to think it over some more," he had said. "It's too big to rush into blindly. As it stands, however, I see no reason why you shouldn't go and make a little money, besides getting the trip."

Burt and Critch got an atlas and went over the route that Mr. Wallace had traced. When Burt reported all that his uncle had said about civilization in the Congo, Critch heaved a deep sigh.

"Seems 'most too good to be true," he said. "To think of us away over there! I don't see where your uncle's going to clear up much coin, though. It must cost like smoke."

"So does ivory," grinned Burt. He was in high spirits now that there actually seemed to be some hope of his taking the trip. "He ain't worried about the money. Say, I'm mighty glad I've been learning French! It'll come in handy down there."

"You won't have any pleasure tour," put in Mr. Critchfield quietly. "Mr. Wallace means business. He told me he meant to leave the whole matter of skins and heads to you two chaps."

"Wonder what he wants them for?" speculated Burt. "Mebbe he's going to start a museum."

"Hardly," laughed Mr. Critchfield. "He said he wanted to give them to some Explorers' Club in New York. That means they'll have to be well done, Howard. I want you to be a credit to him if he takes you on this trip."

"I will." Howard nodded with confident air. "Just let me get a chance! How's the scholarship? Hear anything yet?"

"Got her cinched," replied Burt happily. "Well, guess I'll get back. See you to-morrow!"

For the next week the question of the African trip was left undecided. When Burt had received his definite announcement of the scholarship, dependent on his next year's work, Mr. Wallace urged that the matter be brought to a decision one way or the other. On the following Saturday evening Mr. Critchfield and Howard arrived at the St. John residence and the "Board of Directors went into executive session," as the explorer laughingly said.

"There's one thing to be considered," announced Mr. Critchfield. "That's the length of your absence. Next year is Howard's last year in high school and I wouldn't like his course to be smashed up." Mr. St. John nodded approval and all looked at Mr. Wallace expectantly.

"I anticipated that," he replied quietly. "I saw Mr. Garwood, the superintendent of schools, yesterday. I told him just what we wanted to do and asked him about Burt's scholarship. School will not begin till the twentieth of September. He said if you boys were back by November and could make up a reasonable amount of work he'd make an exception in your cases owing to your good records. I'm fairly confident that we'll be back by November."

"I don't see how," interposed Mr. St. John. "I've been reading up on Stanley's journeys in that country and—"

"Hold on!" laughed Mr. Wallace. "Please remember, Tom, that Stanley made his trips in the eighties—nearly thirty-five years ago. Where it took him months to penetrate we can go in hours and days. This is the end of June. By the first of August we'll be steaming up the Congo. I don't think it'll take us two months to cross from the Aruwimi to the Makua and reach French territories. In any case, I intend to return direct from Loango, a port in the French Congo. We'll come down the river under the French flag in a French steamer, turn the corner to Loango and there'll be a steamer there waiting to bring us and our stuff direct to New York. I'm almost sure we'll be back by November."

"Even if we aren't," put in Howard, "it'll only throw us out half a semester."

"Supposing they do miss connections, Critchfield," said Mr. St. John, "I wouldn't worry. It is a great thing for the boys and perhaps an extra six months in school won't do any harm. However, figure on getting back."

"I guess it's up to you, Etta!" laughed Mr. Wallace. "What do you say? Yes or no?"

As Burt said afterward, "I came so near havin' heart failure for a minute that I could see the funeral procession." Mrs. St. John hesitated, her head on her hand. Then looking up, her eye met Burt's and she smiled.

"Yes—"

"Hurray!" Critch joined Burt in a shout of delight, while the latter gave his mother a stout hug of gratitude.

"I don't know what we'll do here without you," she continued when freed. "When will you start, George?"

"Since we have to be back by November," replied the explorer, "we'll leave here Monday morning and catch the Carmania from New York Tuesday. I'll wire to-night for accommodations."

"Monday!" cried Mr. St. John in amazement. "Why, there'll be no time to get the boys outfits or pack their trunks, or—"

"We don't want outfits or trunks, eh, Burt?" smiled Mr. Wallace. "The comfort of traveling, Tom, is to be able to take a suit case and light out for anywhere on earth in an hour. That's what we'll do. Wear a decent suit of clothes, boys, and take a few changes of linen. We'll reach Liverpool Friday night and London on Saturday. We'll get the outfits there, and if we hustle we can pick up one of the African Steamship Company's steamers Tuesday or Wednesday."

"But your book?" asked Mrs. St. John. "Is that finished?"

"Bother the book!" ejaculated her brother impatiently. "I'll write the last chapter to-night and if the publishers don't like it they can change it around to suit themselves. I'm going to Africa and I'm going to leave New York Tuesday morning rain or shine!"

"That's the way to talk!" shouted Burt, wildly excited. "Good for you, mother! I'll bring you back a lion skin for your den, dad!"

Had Burt been able to foresee just what lion skin he would bring back and what he would pass through before he got it he might not have been so enthusiastic over the prospect of his African trip.