With tears in his eyes Fleet waved his hand for them to desist. Pod jumped up and patted him on the back with no gentle force, which straightened the fleshy one out in a hurry.
“What do you think you’re doing, anyway?” he demanded, glaring at his little comrade. “I’m no punching bag!”
“That so? Thought you were.”
“Fleet has eaten enough to last him three days,” said Chot. “Remember, fellows, he gets nothing but water during that time. There must be something left for the rest of us.”
“Humph! I’d like to see you fellows keep me from eating!” snorted Fleet.
“Oh, you’d like to? Well, then, watch us.”
It was ten o’clock when the boys had finished telling stories and discussing their trip. By that time all were sleepy, and Pod was beginning to feel lame all over.
“Gee! I hate to lie down, fellows,” he said. “I know I won’t be able to move in the morning.”
Then the boys rolled up in their blankets, and fifteen minutes later were so deep in Slumberland that not even Fleet’s snoring created an impression.