"This is going to be fun before we are through with it, my dear fellow."
"Ah—well——"
"Let it go at that," advised his blond friend cheerfully. "Leave it to yours truly to pull all the chestnuts out of the fire. We must not get into further trouble with the Sheriff of Nottingham. Go on, Red; call him up to breakfast."
So the constable remained to eat with the Walcott Hall boys. If there was a good deal of quiet fun thrust at him, Enos Quibb did not know it. Aside from his high opinion of his own importance as an officer of the law, he was rather a thick-skinned individual.
He seemed to feel, however, that there was something due his hosts. He stood about after breakfast and coughed for a time, finally blurting out:
"Wal, of course, you boys understand I ain't got nothin' personal against you. Quite the contrary—yes, sir! Ye sartainly did me a good turn last night. And I'd like ter do you a good turn in re-turn."
"Fly to it, old boy," Peewee Hicks urged. "Put us down in your will for a good fat sum."
Enos did not give heed to this chaff. He added:
"Of course, I know you boys ain't got a mite of right on this island. That Kingdon chap showed me his permit, fair an' square, over to t'other camp. Dunno where you got them letters and that wallet with his initials on it that ye give me a peek at," he pursued, looking at Kingdon. "'Tis abeout as much as my job's wuth, I guess; but I'll try not ter see ye over here when I pass by. But I wish ye would find some other place ter camp on."
"Nothing doing. We're just wedded to Storm Island," Kingdon declared.