A Ticket to Adventure by Roy J. Snell

Author:Roy J. Snell
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781634211512
Publisher: Duke Classics

Chapter XI - The Fresh-Dough Club

*

"Such a delicious odor!" Florence exclaimed. With the prompt reactions of buoyant youth, she made herself at home in her grandfather's cabin. Now, being hungry, she began sniffing the air.

"Mulligan stew," the old man explained. "It's done to a turn. Never a better one made. Prime young reindeer meat, bacon, evaporated potatoes, fresh onions, a spoonful of dried eggs, a pound of red beans, pepper, salt, fresh seal oil. Guess that's about all there is in it. Hungry?" he smiled down at her.

"I'm always hungry," Florence smiled.

Taking a huge bowl from the cupboard in the corner, Tom Kennedy filled it to the brim. Into an equally huge cup was poured steaming black coffee. "We're healthy up here," he explained. "We can take it straight."

"So can I," Florence gulped down a burning draught.

"Um—um," she breathed a moment later as she tasted the stew. "I can cook a little, but not like that."

"It comes," said the old man, his words slow and melodious, "comes with time. I've been in the North thirty-five years." The expression on his face changed. His thoughts, Florence told herself, must be far away.

She tried to read those thoughts, to discover whether they had to do with his boyhood days and his frail, child-wife who had died long ago, or with gray mountains, long trails, whirling snow and the lost mine.

Her thoughts were suddenly broken in upon by a breezy figure who appeared to have been blown through the door by a gust of wind.

A ruddy-faced youth, he was, garbed in a blue drill parka that looked like a slip-over dress, corduroy trousers and sealskin boots.

"Hi, Pop!" he exclaimed, not seeing the girl. "Great stuff today. Did fifty miles an' cut twenty minutes off the time. I—

"Hey, you! Stay out!" he shouted suddenly as a half dozen great gray-brown beasts came tumbling into the room. They struck the young man with such force that he was suddenly thrown into the corner where Florence sat.

"I—I beg pardon," he stammered. "I didn't know—"

"Jodie, meet my granddaughter, Florence Huyler." Wrinkles of amusement appeared about Tom Kennedy's eyes.

"Your—your granddaughter!" the young man's eyes opened wide. "Why, Pop, we didn't know you had a living relative!"

"Neither did I, son. Not until just now. She dropped down from the sky.

"Jodie, here," Tom Kennedy turned to Florence, "is the uncrowned king of Alaskan dog-mushers."

"Yeah," Jodie drawled, "crown's likely to get a trifle tarnished before I get to wear it."

"Jodie Joleson," there was a ring of enthusiasm in the girl's voice. "I've heard of you."

"Where?" he stared.

"Anchorage."

"Way down there! How fame does travel," he replied in mock seriousness.

"Tell me, Grandfather," Florence faced about. "Did a girl ever win your dog race?"

"What? A girl?" the old man stared.

"Of course not," Jodie answered for him.

"Why so certain?" Florence gave the young man a look.

"Well, you see—see," he hesitated, "it's a long race, hundred miles and back. How could she?"

"I—I was just wondering. You see, I'm new to the country," Florence half apologized. There

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