“We cannot,” boomed the Professor’s deep 95voice. “This is an instance in which the punitive expedition must go through.”
Whack! Whack!That stick played a tattoo that made Stacy sore in more senses than one. Instead of burrowing deeper into the cedar boughs, he got up hastily. In his desperation he seized the Professor’s feet, giving a mighty tug at them.
“Here, stop that!” protested Professor Zepplin, laughing.
He reached for the fat boy, but Chunky, with a new exertion of his strength, brought the tutor down to a sitting position.
“Retreat in good order, while you have a chance!” called Walter Perkins. Three grinning faces met the fugitive at the tent. But Stacy bowled Walter over, leaped the foot that Rector extended to trip him, and then dashed for the shelter of the tall cedars, where he hid.
There he shivered in his wet pajamas. It was three o’clock in the morning, but young Brown cared not for time. His stomach told him only that it was high breakfast time. The gnawing under his belt-line continued.
“I wish I hadn’t been quite so fresh!” thought the boy, dismally. “It’s all right to have fun, but there are times when a square meal is worth more.”
However, the Professor, though he was really 96enjoying the situation, looked anything but amiable.
“I’ll try the crowd, anyway,” thought Stacy, ruefully. “I’ve got to get near the kitchen kit soon. Hello, the camp!”
There was no response. Stacy emerged from his hiding place and began to sing the song he had learned from Rastus Rastus in Kentucky.