“Oh, wow!” whooped Sile. “Yeou hit the English language an awful wallop that time. Yeou had the dictionary backed up against the ropes and gaspin’.”
“Nobody’s eager to swallow it all, Pipe,” said Grant. “All the same, I’ll admit that Mr. Granger has made me curious to pay a visit to Spirit Island. I’d like to see the holes people have dug searching for the loot John Calvert is supposed to have buried there.”
“Me, too,” nodded Crane. “It’s too hot to paddle araound much naow, but we’ll have to go over to the island fust chance we get.”
“I wouldn’t mind that myself,” said Sleuth. “It will give us something to do.”
“You’ve got sus-something to do,” reminded Springer, “unless you want to sleep on a mighty hard bed tonight. Why don’t you cut some boughs?”
“Seems to me,” returned Sleuth, “you fellows cut enough yesterday. You might give me some of your boughs.”
“Not on yeour life, you lazy tyke!” returned Crane. “If yeou want boughs you’ll cut ’em.”
“Oh, all right,” snapped Piper. “Where’s the hatchet? I’ll do it now.” He found the hatchet and stalked away into the woods in search of boughs.
“Queer old Sleuthy,” laughed Springer, as they heard him chopping a short distance from the camp. “I’m glad he came along with us, for he’s certainly provided some amusement.”
After a time Piper reappeared with an armful of boughs, dripping perspiration from every pore and looking weary and disgusted. He would have flung the boughs down carelessly in the tent, but Grant compelled him to put them in the proper place and arrange them for his bed.