"Another thing you've got reason to be satisfied about is your camera," suggested Frank, knowing what store his comrade set by his treasured instrument.
"Yes, for it hasn't been wet even a little bit!" Will declared. "I've always been pretty lucky that way. In fact the only streak of misfortune that ever struck me was the loss of those Maine films. I even dream about them, Frank; and I certainly do hope that Gilbert brings them back, if he comes this way."
"He may turn up any time now," Frank assured him. "The golf tournament must have been played before this, and if Gilbert lives around this part of the country you'll see him coming after those golf balls of his. They look extra fine to me."
"And my films would be worth next door to nothing to him; just as I look on his silly old golf balls. Queer how one man's food is another man's poison, isn't it?"
A dozen times Frank had to scratch a match at the request of his mate in order to take a glance at his watch. The time seemed actually to drag along.
"I've read about the minutes passing on leaden wings," said Will, with a long-drawn sigh, "but now I know just what that means. Eleven o'clock you said, didn't you, Frank? That means six more to bring us to five in the morning; and I suppose we couldn't think of making a start any earlier than that."
"As soon as it's broad daylight we'll get a move on us," promised the other. "We only want to make sure we can see how to avoid pitfalls and fallen trees."
"How far are we from camp, do you reckon, Frank?"
Will asked this last question rather drowsily; for in spite of his pains he was beginning to get sleepy.
"Only a few miles as the crow flies," he was assured.