“I can’t look over my shoulder–I never can,” quoth Bessie. “Paddling a canoe takes more of my attention than riding a bicycle.”
“Or a motorcycle. Those things are just awful,” cried Mina Everett.
“Shucks!” exclaimed the lively Frankie. “A motorcycle is only an ordinary bicycle driven crazy by over-indulgence in gasoline.”
“How smart!” cried Bessie. “But you’d better save your breath to cool your porridge—”
“Or, better still, to work your paddle,” commented Grace, with a swift glance behind. “Those Busters are coming up the river, hand over fist.”
“With poor Tubby in the rear, of course,” said Frank, glancing back. “The tide is certainly against him.”
“Oh, dear me!” giggled Percy, “poor Tubby was more than ‘tide’ last week when he took Annabel Craven out on the river. Did you hear about it? You know–the night before graduation.”
“I believe that fat youth is sweet on Annabel,” announced Bessie, shaking her head seriously.
“What do you suppose Ann thinks of Tubby?” cried Grace.
“You know how it is,” chuckled Frank. “Nobody loves a fat boy. Go on, Percy. What happened to poor old Tubby?”