“We’ve got one coming to us,” Brent said.
“Yes, you get in the habit of lying around in a place like this,” Lawton said. “Well, so long, I may see you later.”
“Hang around for supper if you’re here,” Tom said. “Make yourself at home till we get here and we’ll have another crack at pinochle.”
“You might put some potatoes cooking at about five or so if you’re here,” said Brent; “put a little salt in the water.”
Lawton laughed good-humoredly as he went away.
CHAPTER XXIX—The Old Elm
The next morning something happened, trivial in itself, but destined to have a bearing on the course of this chronicle. The campers used up the last of their coffee for breakfast. After the usual playful expedient of trying to squeeze more out of the tin can, they found that even their supply for that particular breakfast was insufficient. A camp without coffee (whatever you may hear to the contrary notwithstanding) is as sad a thing as a camp without a camp fire.
“I don’t see but what we’ll have to bust into civilization,” said Brent. “I wonder if we look like a couple of Rip Van Winkles. Where do you suppose is the nearest grocery store?”
“Sandyfield? Scout Headquarters?”
“Let’s hike to Sloatsburg,” said Brent, “and that will give me a chance to buy a sweater. I’d like to explore the country southwest of here anyway. Let’s see if we can find a way out to the south and come back along the Sloatsburg road.”