Until ten the three walked around the city, noticing everything that was peculiar to this strange land. When finally they came back to the railroad station, they were not a little fatigued. Especially tired was Chubby.
“Well,” Bob began, “we’ll leave in fifteen minutes, if we follow the set schedule. I suppose,” he said to the fat youth, “you’ve definitely made up your mind to go back home?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you won’t think of going with us to the Andes? We could use you, all right.”
“Sorry, but it’s North America for me.” Chubby spoke decisively. “This continent here ain’t fit for a gazook like me. I want to get back.”
He exchanged addresses with Bob and Mr. Wallace, pocketing his notebook just as the train steamed up to the station.
“Good-bye and good luck!” called Bob, as he stepped up into the coach. “Write us sometime.”
“Hope you lose some fat,” laughed Mr. Wallace, as they started moving. “And you’d better not try to swim to the U. S.”
The train moved slowly away, leaving Chubby to stand on the platform, still waving.