Almost instantly the rain began to fall, and the boys scrambled for their tents, while Chops, wrapping himself in a blanket, crouched in front of the fire. From their tents the lads could talk to each other, the openings of the tents being close to the fire itself. They continued their conversation from the tents. By this time the rain was roaring on the canvas in a perfect torrent.
"It's going to be a good night to sleep," called Ned.
"I am not so sure of that," answered Tad Butler.
"I reckon it'll be a fine night for ducks," observed Chunky.
"Young man, that is not seemly language," rebuked the Professor.
"It's the truth. Isn't truth seemly?" demanded Stacy.
"You are evading the question."
"I beg your pardon, I'm not. I am bumping right up against it," retorted the fat boy, amid smothered laughter.
The roar of the storm soon made the boys sleepy, and a few minutes later the last of the party, except Tad, had turned in. Butler watched the storm for an hour, listening thoughtfully to the river and the rain.
"It is my opinion that we'll be having trouble before morning," he muttered as he threw himself down on his bed of boughs. He did not remove his clothes, as had the others, in which perhaps Tad Butler was wise.