“Well, I’ve only been here six months or so,” said Dick; “but I’ve had the time of my life. And of course I’ve got you fellows to thank for that, you and Harry together. I wish—I wish I was going to see you this summer for a while.”
“Well, why not?” asked Chub, eagerly.
“Dad wants me to go over to London and stay with him,” answered Dick. “I hate London. Folks are so stupid there, and can’t talk decent English. Last time I was there I couldn’t make anybody understand what I wanted.”
“Well, you’ve dropped some of your more picturesque expressions since you came up here,” laughed Roy. “Maybe this time you can make yourself understood.”
“What I’d like to do,” Dick continued, “is to stay right here and—”
“Where?” asked Chub, innocently. “On Fox Island?”
“Well, somewhere around these diggings,” answered Dick.
“A chap might do worse than spend a time on this old island,” said Roy, as he leaned back against the trunk of a birch-tree and smiled contentedly. “It’s a dandy camping place.”
“That’s it!” cried Dick.
“What’s it, you old chump?” asked Chub.