“What do you think, Dick?” Cal asked as soon as the man was well beyond earshot; “is he a trifle ‘off’? has he lost some of his buttons?”
“Possibly, but I doubt it.”
“But what nonsense he talked!”
“Yes, I know. But did you observe his smile? He was only doing in his way what you so often do in yours. Your smile often contradicts your words—making its bow, as it were, to the nonsense you are uttering. Yet we don’t suspect you of having slipped your cable.”
“I suppose that’s it,” said Cal, “but allow me to suggest that our chatter cuts no palmetes, and we’re in need of a great number.”
By the time the needed poles and crotch sticks were cut and sharpened for driving into the ground, Larry returned, bringing with him one huge fish and a bucket full of croakers and whiting, all of which he had dressed on the shore.
He wrapped the large fish in a mass of wet sea weed and buried it in the hot ashes and coals to bake. After setting such other things to cook as he thought necessary, he joined the others in the work of setting up the poles and fastening their ends securely together with vines as flexible as hempen rope. The wetter parts of the woodlands yielded such vines in abundance, and as somewhat experienced sailors the boys all knew how to tie knots that no strain could loosen.
By the time that the dinner was cooked the framework of the shelter was more than half done.
“We’ll knock off for dinner now,” Larry suggested, “and after dinner the whole force will set to work finishing the framework and covering it. There are bunks to be made, too, and filled with long gray moss, so we’ll have a very full afternoon.”
“By the way, Professor,” asked Cal, as the man of science rejoined the group, “are you quite sure you won’t let us make a bunk for you?”