There was no help for it now, the Couldn’ts had been robbed. Even their party paper napkins were being made into balls.
“Isn’t it awful!” moaned Jack, falling into the one dry spot on the sandy floor. “And we were the real benefactors of this ranch. That’s the way goodness is repaid in this hard, cruel world.”
Nobody noticed the sermon—everyone was too busy looking for food. Finally Walter and Ed, after a private conference with Dray and Jack, decided to give to the unfortunates all the food they possessed, “in order to avert worse damage to their property.”
“But we are dining out,” Ed put in, “and it’s only fair that you should take the provender home. We want to wash our little faces, you know. We dine with ladies.”
“Oh, we will pay it all back,” declared Clem, who was scooping up empty boxes in the hope of being agreeably disappointed in their contents as compared with their weight.
“Yes—you—will!” mocked Jack, “when we can skate on the sand of the desert. But hustle. There’s not another scrap around. Land that oil can, Ted. It’s empty.”
After considerable urging, ordering and coaxing, the Couldn’ts rid themselves of their uninvited guests, and were once again in possession of their own tents.
“Did the girls invite us?” asked Dray. “I hate to intrude.”
“They did not,” replied Jack, “and we are not going to intrude. We are just going over to thank Mrs. Lewis for saving this camp from destruction. She hammered down those stakes. Look at them!” he ordered. “Ed, did you ever wield a hammer as truthfully as that?”