Secrets of the Andes. Foster James H.

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      “It’s a good thing people aren’t all alike,” he said. “If they were, either the wilds or the civilized places would be filled to capacity.”

      Although the youths were anxious to reach their destination, they found the drive East interesting, even though they had made it before. Their attention was so held by the many interesting sights that, almost before knowing it, they found themselves in Pittsburgh, after having eaten a lunch several hours before. In the business district they engaged rooms in a small but comfortable hotel.

      If Mr. Wilson and the naturalist were tired, the youths were not. They insisted on taking a look at Pittsburgh, which they had not seen for many months. An hour or two of looking around and they would return to the hotel, remarked Bob.

      During that time the young men found much to hold their interest. The great fiery blast furnaces, the towering skyscrapers, the crowds of pleasure seekers, and the lights of river boats all kept them gay with amusement.

      At last, when they finally made themselves return to the hotel, they found that their friends had gone. Evidently the lure of a great city was too much for them.

      “And Mr. Wilson said he was dead tired,” said Joe with a smile.

      “They’re no different from us,” said Bob. “Want to keep on the go, I guess.”

      Mr. Wallace and his friend did not return until late, much to the amusement of the youths. Both men wore a sheepish look as they caught sight of Bob and Joe.

      “Sorry, but we just had to get out,” grinned the newspaper man, walking drowsily through the lobby. “Couldn’t stand it to stay inside.”

      “Perhaps you’ll pay the penalty of oversleeping,” laughed Joe, “and we won’t get started until late.”

      Joe proved wrong, however, for early the next morning they were up making ready to resume the journey. From Pittsburgh the traveling promised to be slower, owing to the increased traffic and mountainous country. But Mr. Wilson was determined to make good time, and did, reaching York, Pennsylvania, at one o’clock.

      Here the youths and the naturalist were to take their leave, while the newspaper man would continue to New York City. Had he not been in a great hurry he would have insisted on driving them on to Washington. As it was, his business prevented his doing so.

      With a hearty farewell, the boys and Mr. Wallace left his car and made their way to a railroad station, where they boarded a train for the nation’s capital.

      An hour and a half of traveling brought them to Baltimore, and now the youths began to feel that they were in home territory. In this city a delay was inevitable, but at last the train resumed its journey to Washington, which it reached in due time.

      Since Mr. Wallace and the boys had not known exactly when they would arrive, they had not expected anyone to meet them at the station. But much to their surprise they found that Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis were waiting for them when they went down from the tracks.

      “Boys!” cried Mr. Holton excitedly. “And there’s Wallace, too. How are you, old man?”

      There followed a wild shaking of hands, patting of backs, and general welcome, in which Mr. Wallace took as large a part as the others.

      “How did you know we would come on that train?” inquired Bob wonderingly. “Mr. Wallace didn’t tell you, did he?”

      “Not exactly,” Mr. Lewis returned, picking up a suitcase. “But he said you would probably get near Washington today, and that York, Pennsylvania, would be your junction point. So Howard” – referring to Mr. Holton – “and I called up the station to find out when the train would get in. We were here this morning, when the early one arrived.”

      The newcomers were led to Mr. Holton’s car, which was parked a short distance away. Glad of the chance to relax, the youths and Mr. Wallace threw themselves tiredly into the seats.

      As mentioned previously, the respective homes of Bob and Joe were located next door to each other, almost at the edge of the city. They were not of costly design, but were comparatively new and pleasing.

      Mr. Holton had barely brought the car to the curb when the boys’ mothers, along with Bob’s small brother and Joe’s sister, came out to meet them. There followed another greeting, if anything warmer than the first. Mr. Wallace, upon being introduced, received a hearty welcome. It might be added that he was to remain with either the Holtons or the Lewises until the expedition would depart for South America.

      “Now tell us what happened,” urged Mrs. Lewis, Joe’s mother, when everyone had assembled in the living room of the Holton home.

      Briefly Bob related the adventures of himself and his friend, from the time they lost the car in the river to the present. He told of coming to the washed-out bridge, of the forced abandoning of Joe’s coupé, and of boarding the freight train where Spike Weaver was trapped. The forced ride to Chicago, the calling on Mr. Wallace, and the eventful days that followed were described fully, while the others listened breathlessly.

      “Quite an experience,” commented Mr. Holton, when his son had finished. “Not many could have gone through it all.”

      The friendly gathering lasted until late that afternoon. As there was no use making further preparations for the coming expedition, all but Bob and Joe took it easy. The youths, however, thought it best to notify the insurance company about losing Joe’s car.

      At request, the company agreed to send out an investigator without delay. He arrived as soon as was promised and asked that Bob and Joe accompany him to the spot where the car plunged into the river.

      When they arrived at the familiar spot, Bob and Joe were not surprised to see that workmen were repairing the washed-out bridge. The men were aware that a car was at the river bottom.

      “I’ll take a few notes,” said the insurance man. “Then we’ll go back. And let me assure you that this matter will be looked after promptly.”

      Back at their homes, Bob and Joe were surprised to see a tall young man of perhaps twenty-five conversing with the three naturalists in the Holton library.

      Mr. Lewis looked up suddenly as he caught sight of his son and Bob.

      “We’ve a surprise for you,” he said smiling. “Part of the Andes expedition is going by airplane.”

      CHAPTER VII

      Off for the Andes

      THE surprise of Bob and Joe was almost inconceivable. They stood staring for several seconds before either seemed to grasp the full significance of the naturalist’s words.

      “Airplane? Going by airplane?” gasped Joe. “How come?”

      His father laughed.

      “We expected to see you fellows startled,” Mr. Lewis said. “But that you would show such unusual astonishment we did not in the least anticipate.” He turned to the stranger. “This,” he went on, addressing the youth, “is Mr. Karl Sutman, who is going to take several members of the expedition in his airplane, or rather monoplane. Karl, I want you to meet Bob Holton and Joe Lewis, the young men we were just talking about.”

      “Glad to know you, fellows,” the aviator greeted, extending a hand.

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