"You talk as though you wanted her to get them," said Roy in puzzled tones.
"We do; that is, we want her to try and get them. If we take to tying them to trees and things Hammond will stop coming over and we'll miss more 'n half the fun of the camping. See?"
"You bet!" grunted Post.
"What's to keep her from coming over to-night, then," pursued Roy, "and taking the whole bunch while we're asleep?"
"Because she doesn't know where they are, silly!" replied Chub. "You don't expect those fellows are going to row across here and then go hunting all about the island in the dark, do you? They always come spying around in the daytime first and see where the boats are hauled up."
"It won't be dark to-night," said Roy. "There's a dandy big moon."
"That's so, but Hammond never has tried it without looking about first and I guess she won't this year."
"I wish I was a Hammondite for about three or four hours," said Roy grimly. "I'd open your eyes for you!"
Whereupon he was quickly tried for a traitor and sentenced to be walloped with a belt. The walloping process occupied the succeeding ten minutes and when concluded—not altogether successfully—left the tent looking as though a cyclone had visited it. But Chub's prediction proved correct. The boats were there in the morning, all five of them.
"Those Hammond fellows are a set of chumps," grunted Roy. "Why don't they send you a note and tell you when they're coming? They might as well do that as send fellows over in a boat to rubber around."