"We don't none of us know what he's up to. He's got something in his sleeve."
"Something up his sleeve?" queried little Hicks wonderingly.
"Well, it doesn't matter," Midkiff said, much displeased. "That constable is bound to come back here and pick a quarrel unless King shows him the letter. What's the matter with you, anyway? You're as mysterious as——"
"As Mysterious Billy Smith," chuckled Red, who couldn't hold a grouch long. "I bet it's a joke. Tell us, you Blue-Eyed Beauty. Let us chortle, too."
"You'll chortle when the time comes," Kingdon told him, with a grin that was quickly effaced, however, by a serious expression of countenance. "Now, come on and help get supper. How about those flapjacks you promised?"
But Cloudman advised against the cakes, and canned beans again became the main staple when the meal was announced. Kingdon tossed up some "panbread," and there were canned peaches to eat with it. They were making out a pretty good supper when the put-put-a-put of the motor-boat was heard again.
"Here we have Mr. Quibb the rural Sherlock," said Peewee. "What will we do to him, Rex? Invite him to supper, or drown him?"
"I vote against wasting food," declared Red. "There isn't enough for guests, anyway."
"Where's your hospitality, Phillips?" demanded Cloudman. "Of course we'll feed him. He deserves something after the way he's been rigged."
"Now, show him that paper, Rex, and let him go," advised Midkiff seriously.