Their wet, clinging clothing was uncomfortable, but, fortunately, all of the campers had brought extra underclothes, and it would not be so difficult upon this sunny afternoon to dry their outer garments.
Simpson’s boat lay unharmed upon the sandy beach, and the paddle was found not far away, where it had been tossed by the waves. They helped him unstep the mast, for the sail would be of little use to him in making his way along that shore; and, besides, as he somewhat sheepishly confessed, he was practically cured of a desire to seek further experience in the art of sailing such a craft.
“I’ve got enough,” he admitted. “This kind of a rig ain’t no good against the wind, and it’s rather dangerous sailing her with the wind, when there is any wind to speak of.”
“Look here,” proposed Crane, “why can’t yeou bring us garden truck, same as you do Granger? We’ve made arrangements for that Dutchman, Duckelstein, to send us milk, butter and aigs, but there ain’t no need to give him a monopoly of all aour business. Besides, I’ve got a score to settle with his fat-headed boy, and mebbe after that’s over we won’t even get the stuff we’ve contracted for.” As he spoke he involuntarily touched his eye, which was still swollen, although the bandage had been removed.
“Cal’late I can fetch ye anything you want,” answered Simpson promptly. “And, considerin’ what you’ve done for me, I’ll furnish truck at a rock-bottom figger; won’t charge ye a cent more for the stuff than we can get by haulin’ it into town.”
“That sure is generous,” laughed Grant, though the farmer’s son could not comprehend why he seemed amused. “We brought only a few vegetables, and they are already practically used up. We need potatoes, onions and beans.”
“We’ve got some rippin’ good green peas,” said Simpson. “I guess some of them wouldn’t go bad.”
“Bring us a mess.”
“And beans—don’t yeou forget the beans,” cautioned Crane. “By hokey! I’m hungry for good baked beans.”
“We haven’t a pot to bake them in,” reminded Stone.