Harry burst out laughing. The idea of asking Blumpo had never once entered his mind.
“It ain’t nothing to laugh at,” went on Blumpo, half angrily.
“Excuse me, Blumpo,” said Harry, stopping short. “I—that is—I wasn’t thinking of you when I made the remark.”
“I’m not rich, nor eddicated, as you call it, and all that, but I can hunt and fish, and so on, as good as the next feller, can’t I?”
“You certainly can,” put in Jerry, who had for a long time had a strange liking for the homeless youth.
“And I am as willing as the next one to do my full share of camp work—washing dishes and the like,” went on Blumpo. “You ain’t cut out for that,” he added, turning to the son of the rich shoe manufacturer.
“Maybe not, but I reckon I can do my full share of work,” laughed Harry. “I was not brought up with kid gloves on, you know.”
“One thing is certain,” mused Jerry. “I wouldn’t want to leave until I had rowed that race with Si Peters from Rockpoint.”
The race to which Jerry referred was one to take place on the following Saturday. Silas Peters was considered the best single-shell oarsman on the lower side of the lake, and he had challenged Jerry as a representative from the Lakeview Academy.
“You’ll win that race, suah,” put in Blumpo. “I’ll bet my hat on it.”