“Safest thing,” said Ted, “is to find a canoe and upset, the way we did a couple of years ago. Pete used to go crazy and threaten to report us, but he couldn’t prove it wasn’t an accident.”
“Aren’t any canoes out yet, I guess,” said Bert. “And the boat house is locked.”
“Never mind your old canoes,” said Nick. “That’s an underhand scheme, anyway. Fair and open’s my motto! Oh, say, but that water’s going to feel good!”
“That isn’t such an awfully rotten idea,” said Ted. “I’m blessed if I know where to look for my trunks, though.”
“You don’t need ’em. It’ll be dark by half-past seven.”
“Not with a moon shining, you silly chump,” said Bert. “You can take a pair of running trunks of mine, Ted. Only, worse luck, I’ll have to unpack that box over there.” He pulled himself from the chair with a sigh of resignation and kicked experimentally at the lid of the packing case. “Wonder where I can find a hatchet,” he muttered. “Got anything I can bust this lid off with, Nick?”
“Got a screwdriver I use on my typewriter,” responded Nick helpfully.
“What time is it?” inquired Ted again.
“Find out, you lazy beast,” replied Bert. “Tell me how to get this thing open, you chaps.”