Poor George looked so crestfallen that Will almost relented. “Didn’t you get bitten?” the former asked blankly.
“What could bite me, George!” Will asked mildly.
“Well, I don’t know what,” George said savagely, “But Charles Goodfellow declares this is a jungle; and we all know, I hope, that poisonous lizards, and reptiles, and centipedes, and tarantulas, and all hideous creatures, live in just such a place as this—I mean in jungles. So, what disturbed you in that brush-heap! Answer that question!—Botheration!” he continued furiously, “here you’ve led me into this horrible place, made fun of me, and contradicted me—you, who have no practical knowledge. And now, to cap it all, I’ve lost my jack-knife, the best jack-knife in these regions, and I got it only yesterday!”
Poor George! One thing after another had happened to irritate him, and he was now in a savage mood. In fact, he was really angry, and the boys had never seen him angry before.
Charles felt a pang in the region of his heart, and Stephen was very uneasy.
“Never mind George,” Will said soothingly. “I’ll help you to look for your knife as soon as we see what is under the brush.”
He stooped over the brush-heap, groping, and then said with awe, as he supposed: “Boys, here are bones! It was bones that rattled under me!—George,” conciliatingly, “what does that mean?”
“Well, I don’t care what it means. My knife is worth more than all the bones you can find in a whole summer; and I intend to look for it in spite of everything. You boys may squabble over those bones till—till—any time you choose.”
Charley was dismayed. George was too sullen to catch at the bait, and their little scheme seemed likely to end ingloriously. Was it for this that they had toiled and plotted?