“I’m automobiling this minute,” sighed Tom. “Say, did we have any luncheon or did I just dream it? I’m certainly terribly lonesome inside.”
“I could eat tacks,” said Alf. “Double-pointed ones, too. Let’s hit up the pace a bit.”
They did, but soon tired, for the ties were never just where they should have been and progress consisted of hops and skips and occasional jumps. Tom voiced the general sentiment when he observed pantingly: “Fellows, this is very tie-some. I shall moderate my transports, if I never get home.”
“You mean transportation,” suggested Dan.
“I mean that I’m going to walk the rest of the way calmly and with dignity. This thing of being a goat and leaping from crag to crag makes me nervous. Anyway, we’re getting pretty near school and I vote that we quit being railroad trains and hit the road.”
“Road nothing! Come up this side and go through the woods,” said Alf. “It’s a heap nearer.”
So they climbed a steep bank, shinned over a high fence and left the railroad cut. Ten minutes of devious progress through woods and across fields brought them to the school. Tom subsided on the steps of Clarke.
“I can go no further,” he declared. “Bring up the auto, Gerald.”
“I’m afraid it’s gone home again,” said Gerald. “But it isn’t too late to take a ride, is it? Just a short one.”
“Ride! What is a ride?” demanded Alf. “I’ve walked so much I can’t imagine doing anything else.”