"Can't you get that off your mind, Chubby?" asked Tom.
"I don't mind the walk, but—oh, say, come on. Haven't I got the blues, though?"
"If my dad doesn't raise the biggest row, I'll be surprised," observed Bob; "he'll have the police hot after them, just as soon as he hears about it."
Dishes were hastily washed. Then the boys gathered up their belongings, and sadly began the long march. How different were their feelings now from those they had in the early morning. Even nature seemed to have lost half its charm.
An hour passed. They toiled on, through pine woods, along the course of a joyous brook, over ridges and hills, while the hot sun poured down, making them hug the shade as closely as possible.
"Hottest day we've had," grumbled Dave, wiping his perspiring face.
"Weary already, Chubby?" inquired Tom. "That's because you're too fat."
"If I was only a human bean pole, like John Hackett," sighed Dave. "Have to rest a bit, boys."
He sank down on a fallen tree trunk with an expression of relief.
"There's a logging camp close by," burst out Bob; "listen, boys!"