Somehow this plain way of putting the case appealed to every one of them; for immediately Bumpus was shaking hands with Step Hen, and as if to show their satisfaction over the way things were turning out some of the rest did likewise.
“Course,” said Giraffe, as he gave Davy’s digits a squeeze that made the other fairly wince, “we can’t say just how we’ll corner the slippery rat, but there’ll be a way, make up your mind to that, boys.”
CHAPTER XXI.
AN EMPTY LARDER.
“I’m only afraid it’ll be too late, Giraffe,” Bumpus was heard to remark, with a skeptical air.
“Too late for what?” demanded the tall scout, who had dropped to his knees, and was starting to follow the trail left by Wandering George, after the latter had gained his feet, and moved away from the vicinity of the camp.
“Why, there won’t be a sign of our grub left by that time, you see; George; he’ll be awful hungry, and it’s surprising what a lot of stuff a regular hobo can put away when he tries.”
“And hoboes ain’t the only ones, Bumpus,” intimated Davy; “I’d match you and Giraffe here against the best of ’em. But let’s hope we’ll find a way to get off this island before night comes, and strike a farmhouse where they’ll feed us like the Baileys did.”
“Oh! do you really think there’s a chance of that happening to us, Davy?” exclaimed Bumpus, intentionally omitting to show any ill feeling on account of the little slur concerning his appetite. “I’d be willing to even go without my lunch in the middle of the day if I could believe we’d be sitting with our knees under a groaning table to-night. Seems like when you’re beginning to face starvation every good thing you ever liked keeps popping up in your head.”
Giraffe at this juncture called out, and his manner indicated that he had made a discovery of some sort.
“What is it, Giraffe?” asked Thad.