“After the fox, of course,” and Sid started resolutely forward. Tom and Phil followed for a short distance, then Phil called out:
“Say, it’s getting swampy here.”
“What of it?” asked Sid, whose enthusiasm would not let him notice such small matters.
“Lots of it,” came from Tom. “We’re getting our feet wet.”
“Ah, don’t be babies!” retorted Sid, plunging into a deep, muddy hole. “Come on.”
“I’m going to find a dryer path,” said Phil, and Tom agreed with him. They turned aside, but Sid kept on. Soon he was lost to sight in the woods. Phil and Tom looked in vain for a better route, and, finding none, decided to turn back.
“We’ll wait for you out on the main road,” Phil called to his unseen chum. An indistinguishable answer came back. The two picked their way to higher ground, and edged off toward the road which skirted the woods.
“Photographing in a swamp is too rich for my blood,” commented Phil.
“Same here,” agreed Tom. “But Sid doesn’t seem to mind it. Smoked mackerel, look at my shoes!” and he glanced at his muddy feet.
“I’m in as bad,” added Phil. “Let’s walk through the grass and——”