The car was now ready to start, and the boys climbed in. Ned and Bob had notified their folks that they might be gone all day, and probably part of the night, and Andy Rush had, by telephoning home, secured permission to accompany them.
Jerry went into the house to bid his mother good-bye, and, as he came out, Bob stood up in the tonneau of the car, where he had taken his place with Andy.
“I say, Jerry,” began the stout lad, eagerly, “what about grub? It will soon be dinner time, and——”
“Oh, good land! I might have known that was coming!” and Ned fairly groaned. “There you go again, Chunky!”
“Well, I guess it will soon be dinner time, won’t it?” and the lad, who had gained a reputation in the way of always being hungry, appealed to Jerry.
“It will, if time continues to fly as it has this morning, Bob,” was the answer.
“Of course, and we’ll have to eat. Hadn’t you better take along a lunch? Or, if your cook is too busy to put up one, drive around to our place, and I’ll get a few sandwiches.”
“They keep ’em in barrels at Bob’s house,” explained Ned to Mrs. Hopkins, who was a smiling observer of the scene. “All Bob has to do is to push a button for whatever kind of sandwich he wants between meals. They know his failing. I dare say the cook is at this moment buttering bread, and cutting meat in anticipation of hearing Chunky’s despairing cry of ‘I’m hungry,’ at almost any minute.”
“Oh, you dry up!” commanded Bob, indignantly. “You’d think I was the only one in this crowd who ever ate anything.”