“If that’s Kid Lord,” he called out, never looking up from the map, “tell him if he comes up here, he’s got to keep quiet.”
But it was not Kid Lord, for Kid Lord was otherwise engaged.
That evening, Harry rolled up his map and went up to the Lord house. Mr. Lord was standing on the lawn watching the activities of a new revolving sprinkler.
“Hello, Harry, my boy,” said he, cordially. “Well, you and Gordon are a couple of A-1 scouts, aren’t you? You made a great botch out of getting off!”
“I think we can find them, Mr. Lord,” said Harry, as they walked toward the porch and seated themselves in two large wicker chairs.
“I don’t know about that, Harry,” said Mr. Lord, seriously. “I’m afraid it’s too much of an undertaking. Dr. Brent will manage to get word to you boys, as I told Gordon—you needn’t be afraid of that. He’ll have one of the boys arrange to meet you somewhere—the nearest station—and—”
“And they’ll all laugh at us.”
“What do you care for that?”
“Well, I don’t know that I do, sir, but it would be a lot of fun to find them.”
“That’s what Gordon says, but now just think a minute, my boy. You propose to roam around through those woods, tramp up mountains, walk through swamps for maybe two weeks or more, simply for the pleasure of stealing quietly up to their tents some day and calling, ‘Peek-a-boo.’ I don’t think the game’s worth the candle, now, do you?”