The second basket Billy Worth simply put away to be enjoyed with the regular noon luncheon; nor would all of Paul's and Dave's coaxing soften his stony-hearted determination. Billy, it will be remembered, was the cook and general chief of the commissary department. As such he possessed in a strong degree the trait, peculiar to those offices, of always being ready to repel too severe a raid upon the larder between meals and always keen to add some delicacy to the commissary's store.
And maybe Billy's idea was the right one. Certain it is that when the river bridge was crossed at last and the noon camp was made under some willows just beyond, nothing could be finer than the deliciously fresh berries with sugar and cream. Phil brought the latter from a farmhouse on the hill above and a still larger supply of good, rich milk. With the fruit, bread and butter, cheese, crackers and the last of the boiled ham, the repast was ample in both quantity and enjoyment.
"Only wish we had that other quart of strawberries," sighed Paul Jones, longingly.
"Of course you do, p-i-g! Lucky to have any!" Billy reminded him. "Provisions are going to be a thing to look out for on this trip."
"Well spoken, my boy; well spoken!" responded Paul, with patronizing air; but Phil put in, "No joke about that. Nothing nearer the Ship woods than Gilroy and that's six or seven miles away. No telling, either, how far back in the woods we may be."
"Great Columbus, Phil! Don't talk that way! You'll give Bill nervous prostration!" exclaimed MacLester, rising and starting to look the car over. "On the job here, you fellows, if you're going with me!" he added briskly. For Mac was driving to-day and the responsibility of covering yet another sixty miles before sundown, and over roads some of which might be extremely bad, rested on his shoulders.
If "on the job" meant "on the car," as at least seems probable, instructions were followed with alacrity. Not even pausing to gather up the evidences of their having stopped for lunch, Billy and Paul hastily packed away bread and butter and similar supplies, then clambered into the tonneau. Phil had hurried to the river's edge where he washed dishes and milk buckets in a shorter space of time than he would ordinarily have considered proper; but the car was chugging away in waiting and he jumped up to the seat beside Dave in an exceedingly spry and nimble manner.
"Go ahead," he said, and the Thirty answered gently, smoothly to the clutch.
"You left that strawberry basket lying there by the fence and you had scribbled all over it," said Billy Worth to Paul, a half hour later. He was thinking of the possibility of the Chosen Trio coming on behind, perhaps in hot pursuit, yet uncertain of the course, "What did you write on the box?"
"Why! Say, that's so!" was the answer, with a disconcerted grin, "That's right! I wrote 'P. Jones, Esq.,' for one thing, and 'With kind regards to Lannington.' I drew a picture or two and—Gee! I thought I'd toss the basket into the river! Don't s'pose it will hurt, do you, Bill?"