“Harry, of course,” said Dick. “And what does it make, Chub?”
“Torohadik, an Indian word meaning ‘four friends,’” responded the inventor affably.
“That’s not so bad,” laughed Roy. “It really does sound like an Indian word, doesn’t it, Dick?”
“Sure. It’s all right. Camp Torohadik it is. We’ll get Harry to make us a flag out of a piece of white cloth, and we’ll paint the name on it. Only I don’t know how—”
“There’s Chub’s cow again,” interrupted Roy as the wail once more broke the silence. “I wish you’d give her some Jamaica ginger or something, Chub.”
“I’m going to see what that is,” said Dick, scrambling to his feet. “Sounds like a horn to me.”
“Horn!” cried Chub. “That’s just what it is, I’ll bet. It’s Harry at the landing. She said she’d blow a tin horn when she was ready to—”
“Yes, there she is,” said Dick, “on the landing, with a basket. I’d forgotten all about the horn part of it. I’ll go over for her in the rowboat. You fellows are more tired than I am.”
“All right,” Chub agreed with a laugh, “but the current’s pretty strong coming back, and you’ll have to row hard, Dick!”
Dick groaned as he made toward the beach, leaving Roy to administer well-deserved punishment.