"We could stay close to a tree and one of us could watch all the time," suggested Dick.
"All right, here goes! Gee, but I'm stiff. Whew! My joints need oiling."
Once at the bottom of the tree Doc collected a little pile of twigs and taking two of the larger ones he commenced rubbing them together vigorously, while Dick watched and listened, ready to sound the alarm at the first sign of danger.
Doc rubbed and rubbed and rubbed.
"What's the matter with your old fire?" demanded Dick.
"I don't know," said Doc. "All the books I've ever read about savages and desert islands and people like that, tell how they build their fires by rubbing two sticks together."
"Maybe you aren't rubbing fast enough," suggested Dick.
"I'm rubbing as fast as I can. Maybe you think this is fun. Well, it isn't. It's hard work." He kept on rubbing and rubbing for several minutes. Finally he stopped, exhausted.
"What you stopping for?" demanded Dick.
"The old sticks won't burn," replied Doc, disgustedly, "and anyway I've rubbed so fast that I've got warm."