"Enos Quibb," Kirby said, chuckling. "He's one sure enough farmer—that's right."
"Just the same," said the fat boy, wagging his head, "I wish he'd keep away from here—and so does Ben."
"Poof!" scoffed Kirby. "If Ben expressed a dislike for the sunshine or the sweet air, you'd keep in the shade and put on an overcoat, Pudge. What Ben says is law and gospel for you."
"We-ell," drawled Pudge MacComber frankly. "You know I wouldn't be up here if it wasn't for Cousin Ben. He paid my way."
"Yes," muttered Kirby to the taller fellow, "and I know Ben didn't give Pudge any return ticket, either. Keeps Pudge in leash better if he has no money in his jeans."
The fat youth did not hear this aside. He was saying: "We shouldn't have camped down there so near the shore. It's too exposed. Ben said that in the first place."
"Aw—Ben!" scoffed Kirby, while the tall chap smiled quizzically at the fat boy.
"He was right just the same. Here comes Enos Quibb, and we're going to get the boot, sure. We haven't permission from the Manatee Lumber Company to camp here, and you fellows know it. We'll have to sing 'It's Moving Day,' all right-o—and just as we got comfortably settled, too," finished Pudge with a groan.
"Come on," said Kirby. "Don't stand there weeping over it."
Already their leader was striding into the wood, and Kirby hastened to catch up with him. Pudge MacComber plodded on behind. It was a hot day, and he suffered from his exertions.