“This is something like living!” Tom declared, spatting the water with his paddle because he was so happy. “Pass me about three bananas, will you, whoever’s nearest the lunch? I feel hungry.”
“You aren’t,” said Louise swiftly. “You just want those bananas because you know they’re there. Have some poetry instead. I brought a bookful.”
“Poetry!” snorted Tom, as she hoped he would.
“Cæsar! There’s a snipe!” cried Billy, dropping his paddle, reaching for a rifle, and taking hasty aim.
“Never touched it,” mocked Tom as the report died, and the snipe appeared not to have done so at all.
“How do you come to be carrying all these shooting-irons around?” asked Louise suspiciously. “I thought Mr. Gedney was pretty strict about it.”
“Special permission,” explained Tom. “We’ve both always known how to shoot, and old Billy here is supposed to be the most careful thing that ever was.”
“That wasn’t a snipe,” said Billy disgustedly. “That was a mosquito, a nice tame old Jersey mosquito. I always heard they grew to that size, but I never believed it before.”
“Don’t cast any asparagus,” said Louise. “The advertisements say there are no mosquitoes here.”
Billy eyed the now almost gone snipe.