“Of course it isn’t. I was jesting.”
XVI
FOG BOUND
The boys were not tired that evening, and after their abundant supper they sat late talking and telling stories and “just being happy,” Dick said. The day had been a torrid one, but in the evening there was a chill in the air which made a crackling camp-fire welcome. When at last they grew sleepy they simply rolled themselves in their blankets and lay down upon the sand and under the stars. They had built no shelter, as it was not their purpose to remain where they were except for a single night.
It was not long after daylight when Tom, shivering, sprang up, saying:
“I’m cold—hello! What’s this? Fog?”
“Yes,” said Larry, “a visitor from the gulf stream. And it is almost thick enough to cut, too. What shall we do?”
“Do? Why, make the best of it and be happy, of course,” answered Cal, piling wood upon the embers to set the camp-fire going again. “The first step in that direction is to get your blood circulating. Stir around. Bring a bucket of water and set the kettle to boil—that is to say, if you can open a trail through this fog and find the water hole without falling into it. Whew! but this is a marrow-searching atmosphere.”