“I have always heard,” replied Cal, in leisurely fashion, as if his only purpose had been to prevent the conversation from flagging, “that one of the most necessary arts of the orator is that of getting his audience into a condition of anxious waiting for his words before he really says the thing they want to hear. I cannot myself claim the title of orator, but I’m practicing and—”
“Will you stop that nonsense, Cal, and tell us what you have in mind? If not we’ll duck you in the creek.”
It was Larry who uttered this threat.
“I’ve had worse things than that happen to me,” answered Cal, imperturbably. “The morning is sunny and the sea water on this coast closely approximates tepidity. By the way, Dick, our higher water temperature seems to mar the edibility of some fish that are deemed good at the North. There’s what you call the weak fish—”
He stopped suddenly, for the reason that Dick had approached him from behind, seized his shoulders and toppled him over upon the ground.
“Now tell us what we’re waiting to hear!” Dick commanded, still holding his comrade down upon his back.
“My mouth’s full of sand,” Cal managed to say; “let me up and I’ll make a clean breast of it, on honor.”
Dick loosed his hold, and as soon as Cal had rinsed his mouth, he redeemed his promise.
“Well, the first thing I discovered was that there’s a promising young deer at present haunting this neck of the woods, and we’re all going out to involve it in controversy with us to-day, and then shoot it as its just due for defying us in such impudent fashion.”