“WHAT!” I said fiercely, more disgusted with him than I had been for a long time. I made a dive for him, so half mad I could have beat him up.
“Don’t hurt me!” he cried, turning his face and burying it in his pillow, which, the minute he did it, his nose objected to it by making him sneeze. “Your Man Friday—kerchew!—has to look after you, doesn’t he?”
Well, that was that. Poetry and I were so tired and so sleepy that we didn’t feel like telling Dragonfly and Circus what we had seen going on up at the old cabin.
I got the map away from Dragonfly and put it down inside my sleeping bag with me, next to my chest, happy that it wasn’t lost, and feeling cozy and warm and glad to have a warm bed to sleep in, and the next thing I knew it was morning. Our mystery was still unsolved, but it was a very pretty wonderful sunshiny day, with a pretty blue sky, and the lake was as smooth as a pane of blue glass.
Little Tom Till was our main problem. Barry still hadn’t come back, so Big Jim was in charge of us till noon. I’d promised to let Little Jim play Robinson Crusoe with us today—but what to do about Tom Till? I hated to tell him his daddy was up here in the North Woods and that the police were looking for him.
“How’ll we get away without taking Big Jim and Little Tom Till and without having them ask all kinds of questions?” I asked Poetry who grinned and said, “’Tsas easy as pie. The rest of you just sneak away without anyone noticing you, and I’ll leave this note on Big Jim’s tent pole.”
Poetry had a note already written. It was in poetry and was:
“Please,—Big Jim and Little Tom Till—
Do not worry, for we will
All be back in time for lunch—