“Going home.”
“What for?”
“What for? Where’s the use o’ stopping? You keep on trying to pick a quarrel with a fellow.”
“Why, I don’t, Bob. I say, don’t go. We’re just going to have no end of fun.”
“Yes,” cried Big; “and I’ve brought one of my father’s net bars to drive in the rock and fasten the rope to, and then no one need hold it.”
“No, I sha’n’t stop,” grumbled Bob sourly. “Where’s the use o’ stopping with chaps as always want to quarrel?”
“I don’t want to quarrel,” I said.
“And I’m sure I don’t,” said Big. “I hate it.”
“More don’t I,” growled Bob. “It’s Sep Duncan; he’s always trying to have a row with somebody.”
“Here, come on,” cried Big. “I’ve got the rope and the bar.”