“It’s the first time I ever knew Tom to act like this,” said Phil, soberly.
“He has done a lot of work,” put in Sid.
“And we have been finding a deal of fault,” added Frank.
“How can we square him?” asked Phil.
“You go out and talk to him, Frank,” proposed Sid.
“No, I’ve got a better scheme than that,” came from the Big Californian. “Let’s finish slicking up in here ourselves, go on and get grub ourselves, and then invite him in. He’ll see we didn’t mean all we said, then.”
“Good idea,” declared Phil.
“We’ll do it,” agreed Sid.
Thereupon, paying no more attention to the justly sulking lad by the water’s edge, the three chums shortly had the sleeping tent in some kind of shape. An oil stove had been brought, and on this some coffee was soon steaming away, while the appetizing odor of ham and eggs wafted itself over the camp.
Through it all Tom never turned his head, nor did his companions speak to him. He must have heard what was going on, but he never acknowledged it. With merry whistles his chums drove away the suggestion of gloom.