“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
The man shot a glance at David, not a very amiable glance. And with that he walked to the bridge, crossed it, and went into the huddle of shacks on the other bank.
“Pleasant sort of customer,” said Lanky.
“He’d make a cow laugh,” said Tom.
“He didn’t like our being here,” observed David, “Now I wonder why.”
“He wants it all to himself,” said Lanky. “He must be some sort of hermit.”
“And just for that,” said David, “I feel like sitting right here on this scow till he gets more hospitable.”
As a matter of fact, however, sitting on the upturned boat and watching the waves surge gently up over the stony beach and then withdraw in a network of little rivulets that made the stones and pebbles glisten was not entertaining enough to keep the three boys there more than five minutes. Tom got up. “I’m going over the bridge,” he said. “If our friend the hermit doesn’t like it—well, he’ll just have to lump it.”
The bridge shook as the three of them stepped upon it. “For goodness sake, don’t lean against that railing,” Lanky warned. “Stop bouncing up and down as you walk, Dave, or you’ll have us all in the water.”
David went on bouncing; but in spite of that they reached the other shore safely. No one was to be seen here; somewhere in the clutter of shanties the man had disappeared.