"That is where you lose," Prescott answered quietly. "You'll be hungry, too, Tom, when the food goes on the table."
However, neither Reade nor Danny Grin ate very heartily that evening.
Every few moments the haunting face rose before their memories.
It proved a dull evening, too, in camp. The sky became overcast.
It looked so much like rain that Dick & Co. voted in favor of
retiring early.
First of all, however, the canoe was hauled into the tent for safety. Then, with only one lantern burning dimly, six sturdy but wondering high school boys rolled themselves in their blankets.
Just as five of them were dozing off uneasily Dave Darrin's voice sounded quietly:
"That thing couldn't have been a joke rigged up on us, could it?"
"A joke?" rumbled Reade. "No, sir! That face was real enough to suit the most particular individual. No, sir; that face wasn't a joke, nor did the face look as though the man to whom it belonged had ever heard a joke in all his life."
"Suppose you fellows shut up until the sun is shining again," proposed Danny Grin, who had been fidgeting restlessly in his blanket.
"That's right," agreed Dick blandly. "All ghost stories ought to be told in the broad daylight."
"Just the same——-" Tom began.
"Shut up—-please!" came a chorus of protest.