“Whoa, Dobbin!” was the chorus from the road. Dobbin started and stopped. Then the farmer found his whip in the bottom of the wagon and Dobbin decided to go.
“If I wasn’t in a hurry I’d use this whip on you!” shouted the farmer as the horse trotted away.
“Look out! He’s running away from you!” bawled Malcolm. Driver and wagon disappeared and the boys took up their journey again, still laughing. The encounter had cheered them up wonderfully. Fifteen minutes later the gymnasium loomed through the fog at the left of the road and their troubles and travels were over. As they cut across the slope toward Holden Malcolm said:
“Give me the dishes and things, Rob, and I’ll leave them at the kitchen.”
“The di—” Rob looked about in dismay. “Hasn’t anybody got them?”
“Haven’t you?” demanded Malcolm.
“No. I thought—Oh, I remember now. I set them down when we climbed the fence back there. I guess they’re there yet, Mal.”
“Well, you’re a wonder! Cook will give me the dickens.”
“Oh, I’ll pay for them. They weren’t much good, anyway, after the way Jelly dented them up.”
“After I dented them up!” exclaimed Jelly. “I’d like to know what I had to do with it. It was that silly bull!”