Montreal, a city rich in historic interest, was a place of great fascination for the Comrades and their chums. It was Pod’s first visit to a city of any size, and his curious stares and delighted exclamations were both pleasing and amusing to the other boys.

“If I didn’t know better,” Pod remarked, as they started up town, having left their canoes in charge of a boat captain on the river front, “I’d say Montreal was bigger than New York.”

“Montreal has 350,000 people,” said Chot; “at least, that’s what my guide-book says.”

They were walking along one of the principal business thoroughfares, when Tom collided with a young fellow who was hurrying in an opposite direction. Each begged the other’s pardon, then Tom uttered an exclamation of delight.

“Well, look who’s here!” he cried.

“Eh?” said the other. “Well, if it isn’t Tom Pratt.”

“What are you doing in Montreal, Sam Green?”

“I might ask the same of you,” returned Sam, for it was indeed the Bayville boy whom they had met during their summer in camp, and later in New York, where Sam was a cub reporter on the Leader, his Uncle Jim, who was one of the editors, having secured him the place. “And here’s Chot Duncan, and Fleet Kenby, and who’s this? Pod Meelick, as I live! Well, youngster, I am certainly surprised to see you up here.”

“And this is our friend, Bert Creighton,” said Chot, as the boys were shaking hands all around.

“I am glad to know you, Mr. Green,” said Bert.

“Same here,” was the reply, “only make it plain Sam. Mr. Green doesn’t sound natural.”

“All right, Sam,” said Bert.

“But you haven’t told us what you’re doing in Montreal, Sam,” said Tom.

“No; and you fellows haven’t told me what you’re doing here. Turn about is fair play.”

“We’re on a canoe trip,” Tom explained. “We started at Winton Hall on the Hudson, came up through the lakes and the Richelieu River into the St. Lawrence, thence to Montreal.”

“What! are you fellows at Winton now?”

“Yes; we’ve just finished our first year.”

“I heard that Truem Wright was there,” said Sam.

“Yes, and he seems disposed to be good now, so we have taken him into the fold. But come, Sam, what are you doing in Canada?”

“I’m on a two weeks’ vacation.”

“Are you still on the Leader?”

“Surely; I’m the police reporter now. I expect to land the city desk one of these fine days.”

“The city desk?” queried Pod, a blank look on his face.

“He means that he hopes someday to be city editor,” said Chot, who was familiar with newspaper terms. “And are you going to be a newspaperman all your life, Sam?”

“Looks that way. Had a hard time at first. You remember when you fellows were in New York? I was pretty green then, but I’m getting over that. Being a reporter has lost its glamour now, and I’ve settled down to business. They tell me I write some pretty good stories, and Uncle Jim says he’ll make me city editor just as soon as I’ve had a little more experience.”

“I’ll bet it’s a fine life,” said Pod, to whom anything connected with a city appealed.

“It is if you like it,” said Sam. “Pay isn’t great, but there’s a chance to make a pretty decent living.”

Sam had turned now and was walking up the street with the boys. He was thoroughly familiar with Montreal, and learning that his friends wanted to see some of the interesting points in the city, agreed to pilot them around.

They visited, in turn, the great Church of Notre Dame; the old French-Canadian market place, with its French signs and throngs of French-Canadians, who still adhere to the tongue and customs of France; the Chateau de Ramezay, once the residence of the French governors, where the treaty was negotiated that lost an empire to France; the ancient Seminary of St. Sulpice, and many other spots, including a tour along the river front, where craft of all shapes and sizes, from ocean-going vessels to the smallest of fishing smacks, were to be observed.

“And you say you are bound for the Thousand Islands?” queried Sam, as the boys finally entered one of the city’s pretty parks and seated themselves on a bench for a chat.

“Yes; we expect to leave in the morning,” Chot replied.

“In your canoes?”

“Surely.”

“Of course, you know that you can’t canoe very far up the St. Lawrence?”

“We can’t? How is that, Sam?”

“The rapids, my boy. Fiercest things you ever saw. Reminds me of Niagara above the falls. I shot the Lachine Rapids, just above Montreal, in a steamer the other day, and I want to tell you there was some excitement on board.”

“And canoes cannot go through the rapids?”

“Well, I should say not—that is, going up stream, and I shouldn’t advise anyone to try and shoot the rapids coming down. It’s bad enough when you’re on a steamer.”

“But I understood that you could paddle all the way to the Thousand Islands from Montreal,” said Chot, a disappointed note in his voice.

“And so you can, but you’ll have to use the canals.”

“The canals?”

“Yes; didn’t you know of them?”

The boys were forced to confess their ignorance.

“The Canadian government,” continued Sam, “has constructed canals around all the rapids, and there are plenty of them between here and Lake Ontario, I assure you. Otherwise the steamers could not get back up the river. But you can use the river part of the way, all right. For instance, you first pass through the Lachine Canal. Then you cross the mouth of the Ottawa River, and enter the Soulanges Canal, which enters the St. Lawrence again near Coteau Landing. Then you can use the river to Cornwall where you enter the Cornwall Canal. This takes you around the Long Sault Rapids. You go from this into the Rapids du Plat Canal, which takes you around Rapids du Plat. Then the Galops Canal takes you around the Galops Rapids. That lands you in Prescott. From there on to the Thousand Islands is smooth sailing, except that you’ll have to paddle against a pretty strong current.”

The boys found a map in one of the railway offices, and Sam pointed out the canals which were plainly marked.

“I’ll just take one of these maps to refer to,” said Chot. “Funny I had never noticed those canals.”

The boys invited Sam to go to the Thousand Islands with them, as Fleet’s canoe would hold two persons, but he said his vacation was nearly over, and that he would be due in New York by the time the Comrades reached their destination.

“I expect to see you all in New York again one of these days, and I hope to be able to show you a good time,” he said.

“Well, we certainly had an abundance of excitement on our last visit,” said Tom. “What, with the burning hotel, and the chase of the smugglers, and various and sundry smaller happenings, we were kept pretty much on the move.”

“Well, I’ll try and see that you don’t burn out next time, anyway,” smiled Sam.

“Why, that fire was the means of winning for Fleet undying renown,” said Chot.

“Oh, pshaw! it did nothing of the kind,” protested the fleshy lad.

“Well, you rescued Mr. Shelton’s little child from the building, and we got an invitation to visit his ranch in New Mexico.”

“Did you go?” asked Sam.

“Did we go?” repeated Tom, laying great emphasis on the words. “Catch us refusing an invitation like that.”

“To refuse invitations of any nature that demand traveling is not in line with the policy of the Experience Club,” said Chot. “We spent quite a bit of time in the west before returning to find that our parents had decided to send us to Winton Hall.”

The boys bade Sam good-bye with feelings of regret, for, while their acquaintance with him had not been of an intimate nature, they had always liked him and were glad of his company at any time.

Upon leaving Sam the boys went down to the river front where they had left their canoes.

“We had better get out of the city before dark,” said Chot, “and find a good camping place, if possible.”

“Yes; for if we spent the night in the city we would have to leave our canoes with a stranger, and I’m not in favor of that,” said Bert.

They found their canoes in the same condition as when they left them, floating alongside the fishing sloop. The captain of the sloop, a French-Canadian, sat on the deck nearby, smoking a short-stemmed pipe. When the boys appeared he arose with a grunt and helped them from the wharf on to the deck.

“You lak de ceetey—eh?” he inquired, leering at them through beady black eyes.

“Yes; it’s a fine town,” said Chot. “We like it very much.”

“Oh, Montreal, she pretty good place,” said the captain. “I leeve here all my life. I lak it, too.”

The boys asked the captain to direct them to the Lachine Canal, which he did. Then they paid him for keeping the canoes while they were up town. He pocketed the change with an indifferent gesture, as much as to say that money did not represent a great deal to him. Then the boys paddled off up the river, past steamers and other crafts, large and small. Entering the canal, which runs right through the heart of the city of Montreal, to enter the river again at Lachine, on the southern shore of the island, the boys paddled rapidly along.

There was a difference in the atmosphere, now; the humidity in evidence during certain portions of the day in the early stages of their trip, was now absent, the air was cool and invigorating, and while the sun was rather warm at times, it was not that suffocating heat that made them stop all labor until the air grew cooler.

Soon they arrived at the Lachine end of the Canal, and as they paddled out into the open water again, and headed for Isle Perrot, which could be seen in the distance, they could see the dangerous Lachine Rapids off to their left, churning the river into foam, and roaring like a miniature Niagara.

“No wonder they had to build a canal,” said Fleet.

“It’s a wonder to me that those rapids are passable from any direction,” said Bert.

“But they are. See that steamer! She’s just getting into them.”

Following the direction of Chot’s extended hand, they saw one of the river boats which ply between Toronto, Thousand Islands, Montreal and Quebec, just as she was entering the rapids. Swaying from side to side, turning first this way, then that, as a skilful pilot guided her through the safer spots, she raced ahead at a rapid pace, with all steam shut off.

“Say, I’d like to be on her,” said Pod.

“Maybe you wouldn’t after you got in the rapids,” said Fleet.

“I think it would be a fine trip.”

“I agree with you,” said Chot. “A little excitement is healthy.”

Tom and Bert nodded their heads to signify their approval of this remark.

“But we can’t go everywhere or do everything during one vacation,” said Chot, “so let’s be satisfied with our trip as originally planned. By the time we’ve had enough of the Thousand Islands we’ll have to make a bee-line for Mortonville if we expect to spend any time with our folks before the fall term opens.”

“And I must go to Bayville. Mr. Hounson would never forgive me if I passed him by,” said Pod.

“Naturally not,” said Chot. “He’s your benefactor. You owe him everything.”

“I know I do,” said the little fellow earnestly. “If it hadn’t been for him I never would have been able to enter Winton.”

“I wonder how our telephone is getting along?” ventured Fleet.

“Very well, no doubt,” said Chot. “Our folks have been making good use of it. There was nothing to do but have the batteries restored occasionally.”

“And we’ll use it again, won’t we?” cried Fleet, delighted at the thought.

“Surely,” said Tom. “I feel that we had a hard enough time getting it up, with Chot shirking his duty to talk to Lucy Pendleton, that we ought to get all the good we can out of it.”

It was fast growing dark, but the boys saw a number of lights on Isle Perrot, and headed toward one of these with the intention of seeking out a camping place.