“You will,” said Kitty. “Sooner or later. They always do.”
“If you ever do, Tad,” said Matty severely, “I—I’ll never, never forgive you!”
Tad made no answer, but a few moments later when they were descending the hill, he paused and looked back at Finger Rock. “It doesn’t look so hard from here, does it?” he asked Rodney, who had stopped beside him. “And I hate to be beaten, Rod. I wouldn’t wonder if Kitty is right.”
“About what?”
“He says they always try again sooner or later. Somehow, I think I’d like to have another go at it some day.”
“If you do you’re a silly ass,” replied Rodney. “Come on.”
The journey back seemed twice the length of the morning trip, and all save Kitty were thoroughly weary when the turret of the gymnasium showed at last over the bare branches of the trees. Kitty seemed as fresh as ever, and Tad, who had naturally felt the walk more than any of the others, observed him disgustedly.
“Kitty,” he said, “you make me tired. Anyone, to look at you, would think you’d just walked around the block! Don’t you ever get enough?”
Kitty blinked gravely. Then he nodded uncertainly. “Y-yes, sometimes. When I do twelve miles at a good clip I—I get quite fatigued.”
“Fatigued!” Tad groaned. “What do you know about that? If he walks twelve miles he gets fatigued, Rod! Honest, Kitty, you ought to see a doctor about it. You need building up!”