Toby himself lived with an uncle, and perhaps this gentleman did not fully appreciate the enormous appetite of a growing boy, and failed to satisfy his needs. Besides, Nathan Jucklin was known all over that section as close-fisted, and capable of "squeezing a penny."
Then there was Bandy-legs. Of course he had a name by which he was known among his teachers at school and at home. It was Clarence; but to every boy in town he went by the significant name of Bandy-legs.
They had come up the narrow and tortuous Evergreen River in a couple of old boats, capable of carrying all the camp material; though so leaky that frequent baling out was necessary in order to keep things dry.
Sometimes they had been able to use the oars to advantage, and cover a mile or two in pretty good fashion.
Then, again, they were compelled to use poles in order to push the boats; or, else going ashore, drag them by means of long ropes, for the rapids were swift.
It had taken them from early morning to nearly dusk to cover these fifteen-odd miles; but now that the camp was established, the tent up, the fire crackling, and supper being prepared, they forgot their tired backs and muscles.
"Hey, Max!" called out Bandy-legs, turning around from where he was attending to the bubbling coffee.
"What is it?" asked the other, who had managed to arrange a temporary rude table, a slab of wood having been brought along for the purpose. "You forgot to tell us about it, don't you know?" the other went on. "Somehow, all the excitement about that silly kid in the bushes knocked it clean out of my head."
"It did now, f-f-for a fact," spoke up Toby. "So t-t-tell us what the p-p-p-p"—whistle—"prospects are, won't you?"
Max and his cousin exchanged a quick look, after which the former placed a finger on his lips.