“That’s nice of you, Jelly,” he said, “but you’d die if you climbed half-way up here again. I’ll go down myself.”
“No, I will,” said Malcolm. “After all, it was more my fault than any one else’s.”
“I’d be glad to go if I knew where the spring was,” said Evan. “Perhaps you can tell me so I can find it.” But Rob shook his head again.
“We couldn’t. I’ll go down. I don’t mind. You go ahead with dinner, Mal. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I guess it will take me a half-hour.”
“Really,” protested Jelly, “I’d like to go. It won’t hurt me a bit if I take my time coming back. And besides, I want to get my weight down. Hopkins says I’m too fat for football. Where’s the can?”
“Haven’t any; you’ll have to take the coffee-pot. Are you sure you don’t mind?” asked Malcolm anxiously.
“Sure. I’d rather like it. Let me go, won’t you, Rob?”
“Why, yes, if you want to. But you take it slow coming back, Jelly; hear?”
Jelly promised, seized the coffee-pot and disappeared over the edge. The others watched him until he had reached the woods. There he turned and waved the pot at them cheerfully. The next moment he was out of sight.
“He’s a good little dub,” said Rob gratefully. “I suppose I ought to have done it myself, though.”