“Well, you look as if you’d been through a hard siege,” declared Rob, who, now that his apprehension was over, joined the others in a hearty laugh and a scramble down the gravel bank.
“What made ’em bust?” demanded Tubby, ruefully, surveying his drenched uniform and brushing himself off as best he could.
As soon as he could speak for laughing the engineer explained. Cocoanuts in their natural state are shielded by great masses of leaves which keep their milky contents cool. Tubby, in his greed, had girded himself about with the succulent nuts and then spent a long morning in the hot sun. This, combined with his activities, had caused the milk to heat up and ferment.
If the fat boy had not taken his tumble down the bank it is not likely that the nuts would have exploded. But the fall was what proved too much for the already fermented milk. Like so much gunpowder it had expanded and blown the “eyes,” or thin parts, out of each cocoanut, spraying the unfortunate Tubby with milk, and making the sharp series of reports that had so alarmed them.
Even Ram Chunda’s immobile face bore the trace of a smile at Tubby’s disaster. In fact, the boy got no sympathy from anyone.
“I’ll pack no more cocoanuts with me,” he was heard to mutter, “they are as dangerous as Anarchists’ bombs and a whole lot messier. Gee, my uniform’s a sight!”
But as the unanimous verdict seemed to be “Serves you right,” Tubby had few remarks on his disaster to offer for the public benefit.
CHAPTER XXI.
“RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”
Ram Chunda approached a small hut painted red like the other dynamite shed, and came out with his arms laden with what were apparently cylindrical tin cans. He selected a number of these, handling them with no more apparent care than if they had been tins of tomatoes, instead of charges of dynamite.
“T-t-t-tell him to be a little c-c-c-careful, won’t you?” begged Tubby. “That stuff would blow up worse than cocoanuts if he dropped it.”