“You girls are the limit,” laughed Paul. “First you let the snake go, and now you want to save the trees.”
“They’ll be afraid to pick a nosegay after a while for fear that the flowers will bleed,” mocked Jack.
“I wish my folks had believed in that plant theory when I was a kid,” drawled Walter. “Then I wouldn’t have had to weed the garden for fear of hurting the weeds.”
“There’s not a bit of poetry in you boys,” said Belle reproachfully.
“You’re mistaken there,” denied Paul. “We love beautiful things. If we didn’t we wouldn’t be chasing after you girls.”
There was only one other visitor to the camp, a sharp-eyed reticent man, who loitered about without betraying interest in anything especially. He made no attempt to join the party, but kept by himself.
“Who is our unsociable friend over there?” inquired Jack.
“I don’t know,” replied the foreman. “He’s been hanging around off and on for several days. He doesn’t talk much to the men, but he and I have chinned a little together. About all I know of him is that his name is Baxter. He doesn’t let on about his business.”
“Maybe he’s an author in search of local color,” hazarded Bess.
“More likely a detective,” remarked Jack. “You’d better look out, girls. He’s closing in upon you, knowing you are desperate criminals.”