“Of course, I want him to.”
“He’s going to walk away with the prize cup,” Harry added.
“Yes, and he’ll accept it, too,” was Mr. Danforth’s final shot, as the two scouts got into the boat in which Pat was to take them across the lake.
“Good-by, Pen,” said Harry, shaking hands with the little fellow. “You work up that idea now, and make your planes large enough, and don’t forget to flex them the way I showed you—get some strips of whalebone. We’ll be home when you get to Oakwood, and we’ll sail in and win that trophy so easily it’ll be a shame to take it.”
“He’s a mighty nice little fellow, and clever too,” Harry said, as they crossed the lake. Gordon disdained to reply. Neither did he speak as they left the boat and started across the quarter-mile stretch of flat country toward Dibble Mountain.
“Where are we going, anyway?” he finally demanded sullenly.
“Up Dibble Mountain to spy round the country—where’d you think?” was Harry’s cheery answer.
“How’d I know?”
“Why, that was the idea, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t care where we go.”