“That’s nothing,” said Gordon, as he took another huge bite. I do not know where he got the apple.
The fire was now coming on famously. “Pull her over,” called a boy, grabbing the curtain. “Never mind the regular call signal—let’s begin and run her across the flame quick for four or five minutes—that’ll do to attract attention.”
This advice was taken, for all the nice points and rules of the Morse signal code cannot be observed with a bonfire on a hilltop. They pulled the curtain rapidly from side to side, alternately revealing and concealing the blaze, and skillfully relieving each other from time to time, for it required some strength and a good deal of agility.
As Gordon stood watching them, he was roused by a light hand on his shoulder and turned to find Mr. Wade standing by his side.
“You mustn’t expect too much of your friend,” he said in a kind of reassuring tone. “It’s possible he’ll see this, but there’s many a slip, you know, betwixt the cup and the lip. Anyway, it won’t be his fault.”
“He can do ’most anything, sir,” said Gordon, earnestly. “Honest, he can. If he only sees it he’ll—”
“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Wade; “and this is good practice for the boys, anyway.”
“But I’m going to start along toward Dibble Mountain just as soon as they get through this. He must have been waiting a couple of hours already.”
“Better stay with us till morning,” said Mr. Wade; “you’ve done enough for one night.”
Just then Al came up to ask about Walter Lee, the injured boy.