“You bet we will. I’m going to spend my Summer working in a hotel over in the Green Mountains. I may run into a good man there, you can’t tell,” said Chris Gibson.
“That reminds me, Tommy,” said Harvey Maston. “Did you accept that job with the contractor? You said you were going to work all Summer on the new hydro-electric plant over in New York State.”
“Yes, I go over there the first of July for two months. What are you going to do, Harvey?”
“Going to work for my father in his paper mill. There’s room for another fellow over there. How about you, Jack? Got a Summer job yet?”
“No,” confessed Jack, “I haven’t. I thought perhaps I might help out father in his marble quarries. But I guess he won’t be ready to open ’em up for three or four months.”
“Well, why not come over to Bordentown and work in the paper mills? We could have a corking time together and you would learn a lot about paper manufacturing. Of course if you can get a chance to go to Mexico again, or something as interesting as that, I wouldn’t advise you to accept my offer. A paper mill isn’t as lively as a power plant besieged by rebels, but then a job is a job, you know.”
“Well, perhaps I might accept your offer, Harvey. I’ll think it over. You see, I—”
“Mis-ter John-n-n Monroe-e-e Strawbridge! Strawbridge!” shouted some one down in the street.
Jack’s head bobbed out of the open window immediately.
“Here. Right here,” he called.