These boys in camp on Storm Island were using neither their minds nor their muscles sufficiently. They were not happy. The days already began to seem too long, although they had not been in camp a week. They were becoming more and more quarrelsome. Instead of enjoying their vacation, they were likely to be bored to distinction very shortly.
Pudge threw away his bat. Horace came in from the mound and seated himself with the others upon the turf under a spreading tree.
"We ought to do something," complained Kirby.
"You'll have a chance shortly," drawled Horace Pence, squinting skyward. "A home run for the tents. It's going to rain."
"Those are thunder-heads all right," Ben admitted.
"Let's go over to t'other side of the island. Can see the storm roll up. She's coming from seaward," proposed Kirby.
"Let 'er come," grunted Pudge.
"I've seen a thunder storm before," stated Ben, without moving.
"Never on Storm Island," snapped Kirby. He was fretful from lack of occupation. But it was not until Horace stood up that Harry moved. "What, ho?" he cried.
"Good idea," said the languid Horace. "I never saw a tempest at sea."