“Yes, we’ll get together in a couple of weeks. I’ve got to spend some time with the folks.”
“I’ll write when I have the camp site all arranged for.”
“And don’t forget to plan for plenty of grub!”
“I want a soft cot, anyhow.”
“Say, what about the girls? I suppose there’s no doubt about their going to Crest Island?” and Sid Henderson, who asked this question, interpolating it among half a dozen others, as well as amid numerous interjections, looked anxiously at Tom, as the four chums were saying good-bye preparatory to dispersing for the vacation.
“Of course they’ll go,” declared Tom. “I had a letter from Ruth to-day——”
“You did?” cried Phil. “I’ll have to have a little seance with Sis. She writes to you oftener than she does to me, of late. Tom, you rascal, take care!” and he shook a warning finger at his chum.
“And hark to Siddie, would you!” mocked Frank. “Sid’s so anxious about the girls that he won’t play if they don’t come; will you Siddie?”
“I’ll play my fist on your nose, you old allosaurus!” cried Sid, as he made an unsuccessful reach for his tormentor.
Books had been put away in the study of our heroes. The armchairs had been covered with dust-cloths, as had the creaking old sofa; the alarm clock had been wrapped in cotton, and put on the shelf. Its tick would not be heard until September. It would have a vacation, too.