“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Jimmy, coming to join Bob in the doorway. “But I’m going down to the crossroads. A bit of rain won’t hurt!”
“Of course not,” said Joe, adding with a wicked grin: “Rose says there’s nothing better than rain for the complexion.”
“Say!” retorted Jimmy, aggrieved, “who said I was worrying about my complexion, I’d like to know. You fellows make me sick!”
“It’s doughnuts he’s after,” volunteered Herb. “I looked in the doughnut jar last night and there wasn’t one left.”
“Good-by, I’m going!” said Jimmy, and without another word started off in the direction of the general store at the crossroads, followed by the good-natured hoots of his comrades.
“Doughnuts will die of indigestion yet,” prophesied Herb, with a doleful shake of his head, “Come on, fellows, let’s listen in on something. We haven’t heard a good concert for days.”
For the time Jimmy and his doughnuts were forgotten. The three boys, absorbed in their beloved radio, forgot time and place.
But finally, finding that static was interfering annoyingly, they stopped to make some unflattering comments on it and Bob, happening to look at his watch, suddenly made the discovery that Jimmy had been gone for almost three hours. At almost the same minute he became conscious of the furious wind that whistled and moaned about the lodge. There was no rain—only that terrific wind.
“Whew,” said Joe, going over to the window, “no wonder the old set isn’t working well. This looks like a regular storm, fellows.”
“And Doughnuts has been gone nearly three hours,” said Bob anxiously. “I wonder what can be keeping him?”