“It’s a sea story!” he exclaimed. “Looks like a good one, too, from the pictures.”
“Give it to me! I was looking all over for that. Guess I must have dislodged it when I threw my school books back there. It is a corking good yarn.”
“Well, Chunky,” went on Jerry (giving Bob the nickname fastened on him because of his overabundance of flesh), “are the adventures in that anything like those we had last summer down at Harmon Beach?”
“Couldn’t touch ’em! Those were ‘adventures as were adventures,’ as Salt-Water Sam would say,” remarked Bob, giving his trousers a nautical hitch in memory of the odd character to which he referred. “I only hope we are as lucky in striking a good time this summer as we were on the Atlantic coast.”
“We generally have been pretty fortunate in that respect,” said Jerry. “I haven’t thought much about it this year. I studied rather hard to win the prize scholarship.”
“Yes, and you got it, which is more to the point, Jerry. As for me, the harder I bone away the less I seem to know. I don’t want to hear school mentioned again for three months. What do you say to having something to eat?”
“Just had my breakfast. Besides it’s most time to go to—Oh, I forgot, you don’t want me to mention school. Well, I’ll call it the place of learning.”
“Nobody will be on time this last day,” responded Bob. “I had breakfast myself, but it was an early one, and I can eat again.”
“Never saw the time when you couldn’t,” observed Jerry, taking care to get beyond the reach of Bob’s fist.