“There,” said Chub, “burglars can’t steal you now, Harry.”
“No,” answered Harry, “good night!” And she dashed across the campus. Roy and Chub stumbled back down the path. It was very dark there in the grove, for there was neither moonlight nor starlight, and so it wasn’t altogether awkwardness that sent Chub sprawling over a root.
“Hello!” cried Roy. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Chub answered, picking himself up from the ground. “At least, not much. I’ve gone and wrenched that old tendon again, the one I hurt last year. Gee! Give me an arm down to the landing, Roy.”
“That’s too bad,” said Roy as they went on, Chub supporting himself on the other’s shoulder. “It’s the tendon at the back of the ankle, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it will be all right to-morrow if I don’t use it. My, isn’t it dark! and warm, too! Where’s the canoe? All right, I can get in.”
Back in camp Roy turned himself into a doctor and treated Chub’s bruised ankle with cold water. Then he gave it a good rubbing and finally did it up in wet bandages. It had swollen up considerably and hurt half-way up the back of Chub’s leg. But it was nothing serious, and he knew it, and so composed himself to sleep when Dick blew out the light. But slumber didn’t come easily to him. His foot and leg pained him considerably, and, besides, it was a warm, muggy night with almost no air stirring and the interior of the tent was stifling. So Chub lay awake, staring into the darkness, listening enviously to the measured breathing of Dick and Roy, and all the time trying to discover a comfortable position for the injured foot. The night was very still save for the soft lapping of the water and the incessant voices of the insects. To make matters worse the mosquitos were having a gala night of it; the weather was just the sort they liked best. Usually Chub wouldn’t have stayed awake for all the mosquitos in the world, but to-night their buzzing got on his nerves badly. He stuck it out for nearly two hours. Then he sat up in bed irritably, muttered uncomplimentary remarks in the direction of Roy, who was snoring softly, and suddenly felt as wide awake as he had ever felt in his life!
It was absurd to stay here in bed and suffer from the heat when it was, of course, much cooler outside. So he swung his injured foot carefully to the floor, arose and hobbled out of the tent. It wasn’t very cool out there, but the air was fresher and the odor of the damp woods and pine trees was soothing. So he hopped across to the nearest bench and made himself comfortable with his feet off the ground and his back against the trunk of a tree. It was a relief to get out of that hot, stuffy tent, he told himself. It wasn’t long before the mosquitos found him, but he didn’t mind them greatly; some people experience very little distress from mosquito bites and Chub was one of them. Presently, too, the rough bark of the tree began to make itself felt through his pajamas, while his aching leg protested against the cramped position it held. But in spite of all this Chub was actually nodding, nearly asleep, when voices, seemingly almost beside him, drove all thought of slumber from his mind. Startled, he raised his head and peered about into the darkness. He couldn’t see a yard away from him, but the voices—and now he realized that, although distinct, they came from some little distance—reached him again.
“I don’t like the idea of waiting,” said one speaker. “They may move the stuff.”
“Not if they don’t suspect,” said a second voice. “And it’s better to get them all while we’re at it. Once let them know we’re after them and they’ll scatter, destroy the stuff, and hide the plates!”