"Now, come down here."
Stacy hesitated, then wrapping both arms about the tree trunk he started down slowly. As he went he gained momentum, and the last eight or ten feet he shot down barely touching the tree, landing in a heap in the mud at the feet of his laughing companions. Stacy was up in a twinkling, fully expecting to find Ned Rector sprinting towards him. Ned, however, had remained by the tents.
"You never mind! I'll take it out of you some other time. I'll owe you a thrashing until some more convenient time," warned Ned, shaking his fist at Stacy.
"Now, young man, what excuse have you to offer for going into the lake?" demanded the Professor, laying a firm grip on Chunky's shoulder.
"What excuse?"
"That is what I asked."
"Be—be—because I wanted to take a bath," answered the fat boy.
"Go to your tent and finish dressing."
"Yes, I guess Ichabod has breakfast nearly ready," added the guide.
Stacy pricked up his ears at the word "breakfast," and started on a trot for the camp.