“It’s a hot night,” he said. “I think we’re going to have a storm.”
“Suppose we do, Tom?” asked Dave, anxiously.
“Well, suppose we do!” repeated Tom, with scorn in his voice.
“We’ll get wet,” replied Dave, diffidently. “Won’t we?”
“No,” said Tom, “not a wet! I got a tent.”
“A tent! Where did you get her, Tom?”
“Never you mind. Pirates ain’t supposed to answer questions like that. I got her, that’s good enough.”
“Where is she, Tom?”
“I got her planted not ten yards from here,” replied the elder conspirator, proudly.
Dave’s admiration for Tom was growing.