“He’s gone crazy,” said Tommie, laughing despite herself. “Where on earth you been?”
“Been!” cried George. “Hunting Mexico for you, thinking you were lost. Where have you been?”
“Me—only to get my book. I took the boat when you two were asleep and I got back here a few minutes ago and found you all gone.”
“Well,” said Bud, sitting down on the sand. “I was asleep when Hank pulled me out by the leg, saying you were gone and the Mexicans had stolen you, then we all started off to chase them and hunt for you.”
“But didn’t you see the boat was gone?” asked she.
“I only saw you were gone,” said Hank, “and the Mexicans.”
“Hank told us they’d boned you and made off with you,” put in George. “I took it for gospel and started right off.”
Hank snorted. “What else was a body to think. It gets me. Say, people, what’s wrong with this cruise anyhow. Look at it.”
The idea that his own frightful imagination had not only launched the whole expedition, but had dragged Tommie in, broken up a picture show and wrecked a junk, to say nothing of the latter business, never dawned on him or his companions, nor the premonition that his imagination had not done with them yet.