“I say,” said Wally, “I vote we find Rollitt. He’s not a bad sort, you know.”
“All very well,” said Percy, “if one only knew where to look.”
“It’s my notion he’s either gone home or to the top of Hawk’s Pike. I don’t well see where else he could be.”
“London?” suggested Cottle.
“Not got the money.”
“Walked there?”
“Not got the boots.”
“He can’t be hanging about near here. Everybody knows him. No; you bet he’s gone to the top of Hawk’s Pike, and he’s going to stay there till the clouds roll by.”
This brought up a painful reminiscence. None of the party, except Wally, exactly favoured the idea of another attempt on the great mountain.
“Tell you what,” said Percy, “those biscuits will last him over to-night. We’ll see if there’s any news of him in the morning, and if not we’ll organise an expedition to find him. I say, let’s go and have another shop committee somewhere.”