“I tell you what, fellows,” suggested Bobby, who was usually the leader when it came to action; “what do you say to going over to that farmhouse and trying to buy something to eat? I don’t think they’d let us go away hungry.”
They followed the direction of his pointing finger, and new hope sprang up in them.
“But it’s an awful long way off,” objected Pee Wee, whose fear of exertion was only second to his love of eating.
“Have you got another stone bruise on your foot?” asked Mouser sarcastically.
This was a standing joke among the boys. Whenever Pee Wee hung back from a walk or a run, he usually put forth the excuse of a stone bruise that made him lame for the time.
“No, I haven’t any stone bruise,” Pee Wee rapped back at him, “but how do you know I didn’t bark my shins when I had that tumble a few minutes ago?”
He put on a pained look which might have deceived those who did not know him so well. But the steady stare of his comrades was too much for him to stand without wilting, and he had to join rather sheepishly in the laugh that followed.
“You stay here then, Pee Wee, while we go over and get something to eat,” suggested Fred. “We’ll ask the farmer to bring you over something on a gold tray. He’ll be glad to do it.”
“Oh, cut it out,” grinned Pee Wee. “Go ahead and I’ll follow.”
“Foxy boy, isn’t he?” chuckled Fred. “He wants us to break out the path so that it will be easier for him.”