“Sure,” snarled Jerry. “Did you think I wanted it for myself?”
“We didn’t know,” said Tom, “but no one gets anything out of that box—”
“Oh, hey!” snarled Jerry. “Can’t you see anything? Mr. Doane wants to bait the deer with it.” His tone was scornful enough to poison the very atmosphere.
“Well, I’ll get one,” finally condescended Tom. “Glo told me to get it,” insisted the annoyed Jerry, climbing over his two companions and making his way up to the big blanket that covered the bread box.
Both boys stopped in the rope hunt to watch him.
“Be careful,” ordered Tom. “They’re each wrapped in wax paper.”
“I know,” retorted Jerry, who now actually had hold of one of the precious sandwiches and was shutting the box.
“One’s enough,” said Arthur, foolishly.
“You don’t need to think I’m cribbin’.”
“Oh, come along,” called Tom, who had procured the rope and was scrambling out with it. “Think a wild deer is going to wait all day?” They didn’t, evidently, for Jerry held the sandwich in both hands and followed his companions up the hill, there to find the others still waiting anxiously, lined up like a guard of honor on each side of the cave.