Tom eyed him suspiciously.
"Darry," he remarked presently, "you're talented."
"In what way?" Dave inquired.
"You're one of the most talented fibbers I ever encountered. You've been pushing that cart all of four minutes, and you pretend that you don't notice the work."
"I expected to work when I left home," Darrin informed him. "If I hadn't felt that I could endure a little fatigue, then I'd have remained at home and looked for a job sleeping in a mattress factory's show-room."
Tom subsided after that. Dave's fifteen minutes were up presently, but he declined to accept relief at the push cart until they reached the point where their road branched off on to the rougher highway. Now, Greg and Hazelton took the cart, Greg at the handles, Hazelton pulling ahead on the rope.
Thus they went along, for some five minutes, when Dick, who was in the lead, reached a small covered bridge over a noisy, rushing creek.
Just as Dick gained the entrance to the bridge his gaze fell upon a large white sheet of paper tacked there. The word "Notice," written in printing characters, stared him in the face.
Dick read, then called back quietly:
"Halt! Here's something we've got to look into at once."