Gil threatened him with a book from the table and Poke retired to the other side of the room.
“You see,” said Jeff, taking advantage of Poke’s retreat to state his errand, “you see, fellows, I’ve been thinking—”
There was a chuckle from the window seat which turned quickly into a cough as Gil swung around in that direction, the book still in his hand. Jeffrey smiled.
“Thinking,” he went on, “about getting a canoe.”
“Gee, but I’m glad you aren’t thinking about getting a steam yacht!” ejaculated Poke. “You’d have brain fever by this time!”
“They say there’s a man named Sandford up the river who makes corkers.”
“There is; at Riverbend. There are two or three up there who make canoes,” replied Gil.
“Well, I’ve always heard that Sandford’s were the best. I think—”
“He’s at it again!” groaned Poke, who had fortified himself with half a dozen cushions. “He’s at it again!”
“I think I’ll buy one. Oughtn’t I get a pretty good one for thirty dollars, Gil?”