“Just when they were done to a turn, too,” said Walter gloomily. “I wish the old rascal had choked on the bones.”
Having recovered everything else, even to Aunt Betty’s lunch basket, the picnic party pushed out some distance, and ate their lunch with an appetite that was the keener for their enforced waiting.
They were sure that Bruin’s instinct would lead him straight back to the succulent repast that had been so rudely interrupted, and they were right, for a few minutes later he came loping along and plunged into the remnants of his fish dinner. He glared out over the water at his enemies, but his one experience had been sufficient, and he made no further attempt to take after them. He sniffed around disappointedly at the place where the other eatables had stood, and then lumbered away into the woods.
CHAPTER XXI
THE DRIFTING BOAT
“There’s gratitude for you,” observed Jack. “We’ve given that bear a perfectly good dinner—even cooked it for him—and the only thanks we get is an attempt to kill us.”
“Oh, well,” said Paul, “we must forgive the old fellow. Bear and forbear, you know.”
“You wouldn’t think it was so funny,” remarked Cora, “if he’d gotten away with the rest of the lunch, as well as the fish.”
“Even then we needn’t have gone hungry,” returned Paul soberly. “The forest preserves are all around us.”
“Even in the cities, one needn’t starve if he has a sweet tooth,” added Walter. “He always has the subway jams.”
“I declare,” said Cora, “it’s a pity the bear didn’t get you boys after all.”