Dick consulted his watch.
“It’s twenty minutes past nine now. I think, Sandy, we’d better go back to the house and find Toma and the others. It’ll be time to start before long.”
They hurried along the path, and a few minutes later entered the house, where they were joined by Toma and his two friends. Soon afterward, Frischette strode into the room, carrying his coat and hat.
“I go with you a leetle way,” he announced. “All day long I work in ze kitchen, where et ees hot. I think ze night air mebbe make me feel good.”
Dick glanced sharply across at Sandy, keen disappointment depicted in his gaze. The Frenchman’s announcement had taken him completely by surprise. The situation was awkward.
“Why not come all the way to the encampment with us,” invited Dick. “We’ll be glad to have you.”
Frischette threw up his hands in a gesture of dismay.
“All zat way! Empossible! Et ees too far, monsieur. I am too tired. Eight miles there an’ back an’ ze brush tangle in my poor tired legs. No, I will go only a ver’ short way.”
So Frischette, much to the boys’ disappointment, accompanied them. He chatted as they walked, continually gesturing, often stopping abruptly in his tracks to point out some inconsequential object.
Never before had Dick been given so excellent an opportunity to study the man. He was slightly amused at the Frenchman’s queer antics. He would become intensely enthusiastic over the merest trifles—a bright flower, a sparkling stone, a gnarled, misshapen tree.