The measurements were continued, painfully and slowly. Every ten inches was marked off with the greatest of care, and if John’s statement that his shoe was exactly ten inches long was correct it seemed impossible that any mistake had crept into their calculations. John insisted over and over again that the length quoted was absolutely correct, but his friends kept on asking him, so anxious were they to be perfectly sure.
“One hundred and twenty,” announced Fred at length. “That’s the end of the first journey.”
“Thank goodness,” exclaimed Grant, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “That’s about as hard work as I care to do.”
“I should say it is,” agreed George. “Let’s rest for a few minutes.”
“I’ve got to,” said Grant. “I’ll never last otherwise.”
“Mark the exact spot where we are to start on the next lap,” said John, “and then let’s go up here in the shade and rest for a little while.”
“Good idea,” exclaimed Grant. “I’ll put this stick in the ground.”
The important spot plainly indicated, the whole party withdrew to the shade afforded by a neighboring clump of palms and stretched themselves upon the ground for a well earned rest.
“I don’t suppose we have any business to be working out in that sun in the middle of the day anyway,” said Grant. “It’s entirely too hot.”
“Do you think we’re apt to get a sunstroke?” queried John.