"Yes," returned Bob excitedly.
"Just arrived?"
"While you were out on the campus. Came by express, and directed to Mr. Frank Jordan, as big as life. What do you suppose it is?"
"Maybe some fruit from my folks in the South," suggested Frank. "What was in the box?"
"It's light. I shook it—nothing to indicate."
"Where is it?"
"I took it up to your room. Hey, Ritchie, and you, Foreman—come and be witnesses before Frank sneaks a box of goodies under cover."
The little group proceeded pell-mell up the stairs and were soon in Frank's room. Eager, curious eyes observed a box about two feet square on a little stand.
"There's holes in the top, and—hello! there's something alive in this box, Frank," declared Bob.
"Yes, I can hear it scratching," put in Ritchie.
"Oho!" exclaimed Frank, enlightened now. "This end up—handle with care. I know."
"Know what, Jordan?" inquired Ned.
But Frank did not answer. He had detached the shipping tag, and was reading some words written on its reverse side.
"I am sending you my special pet, Rambo," the scrawl read, "because nothing is too good for you.
