It was true the field-kitchen had arrived, that they had eaten their first decent meal, and there was every reason to believe that the marquee was at the station; still they were "sick of the whole streamin' business."
To add to their troubles the landlord of The Trowel and Turtle expressed grave misgivings as to the weather. The glass was dropping, and there was every indication of rain.
"Rain'll jest put the scarlet lid on this blinkin' beano," was the opinion expressed by one of the party and endorsed by all, as, with the landlord's advice to see that everything was made snug for the night, they trooped out of the comfortable tap-room and turned their heads towards the Summer-Camp.
At the entrance of the meadow they were met by Patrol-leader Smithers.
"You must slack the ropes of your tents," he announced, "there may be rain. Only just slack them a bit; don't overdo it, or they'll come down on the top of you if the wind gets up."
"Oh crikey!" moaned a long man with a straggling moustache, as he watched Patrol-leader Smithers march briskly down the lane.
For some moments the men gazed at one another in consternation; each visualised the desperate state of discomfort that would ensue as the result of wind and rain.
"Let's go an' 'ave a look at Daisy," said Bindle inconsequently.
His companions stared at him in surprise. A shrill voice in the distance calling "'Enery" seemed to lend to them decision, particularly to 'Enery himself. They turned and strolled over to where Daisy was engaged in preparing the morrow's milk supply. She had been milked and was content.
"Look 'ere, mates," began Bindle, having assured himself that there were no eavesdroppers, "we're all fed up with Summer-Camps for tired workers—that so?"