The oil with which Samuel Jarvis had kneaded his bruises was certainly wonderful, and he hoped that "Aunt Suse," who got it from the Indians, would fill out her second hundred years.
He reached the hotel without meeting any one whom he knew, and went up the stairway to his room, where he found his father writing at a small desk.

Colonel Kenton glanced at him, and noticed at once his change of costume.
"What does that clothing mean, Harry ?" he asked.

"It's jeans, and it doesn't fit." "I know it's jeans, and I know it doesn't fit, but I was mighty glad to get it, as everything else I had on was soaked with water." Colonel Kenton raised his eyebrows.
"I was hunting the bottom of the Kentucky River," continued Harry.
"Fall in ?" "No, thrown in." Colonel Kenton raised his eyebrows higher than ever.
Harry sat down and told him the whole story, Colonel Kenton listening intently and rarely interrupting.
"It was great good fortune that the men on the raft came just at the right time," he said, when Harry had finished.

"There are bad mountaineers and good mountaineers--Jarvis and his nephew represent one type and Skelly the other.

Skelly hates us because we drove back his band when they attacked our house.