“It would serve you right if they did not,” smiled Grace.
“Well, they’d better. There is one consolation, Tom. Our duds will be well laundered when they do come out, won’t they?”
“Yes, when they do,” sighed Tom, and the Overlanders burst into a peal of merry laughter. “Hereafter I wash my clothes in a creek—in one that has no kick to it. Who suggested this fool thing, anyway?”
“The guide,” dodged Stacy.
The “Little Fountain” did not erupt again that day, so the guide was left to watch it while the Overland party went off for a few hours’ exploration among the other geysers of the Great Basin.
Nothing more was seen of the missing garments that day, but when day was just breaking next morning the party was aroused by a shout from the guide.
“She’s going to spout again!” he cried.
Pajama-clad, Stacy and Hippy raced for the “Fountain.” Each had snatched up a pole with which he hoped to spear the missing clothing. The others of the Overland party followed as soon as they had made themselves presentable, all laughing and rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.
The “Little Fountain” was steaming and hissing angrily, and sent up an unusually vicious spurt just as Stacy reached it, whereupon the fat boy beat a hurried retreat.
“There they are!” shouted Tom espying his much-wanted garments as he glanced into the pool. “I’ve got mine!”