The boys waved. The agent walked off and they continued their way home.
At the home of each of the boys, a similar scene was enacted that day. Coming home, Paul found his mother waiting for him. As soon as he stepped over the threshhold, she fell on his neck and kissed and hugged him. Putting his arms around her, he found that she was trembling. Not knowing the reason for it, he was puzzled. He said, “Mother, is there anything wrong? You are trembling all over.”
“There is nothing wrong with me. It’s you. Are you all right? Not hurt or wounded or anything?” she questioned anxiously.
“Why, no! Of course not. I’m perfectly all right.” And to prove it he began to go through a series of stretching and bending exercises.
His mother looked sternly at him. “The idea of the thing!” she exclaimed. “You said you were going camping and all the time you knew that you and your friends were going there to catch a gang of smugglers. You might have gotten hurt. You might even have been killed.”
“But, mother,” protested Paul, “nobody was killed or hurt. All the boys are perfectly all right and in the best of health.”
“Well, it’s a good thing. But, big as you are, if you ever do that again, I’m going to have your father give you a good thrashing.”
Dr. Morrison, who had just entered, laughed. “My dear,” he said, “if it ever comes to that, I’m afraid I would get the worst of it. He is taller than I by a head and weighs about twenty-five pounds more.”
“I would never do that, dad,” protested Paul.