"And leave me out, after all?"
It was an appealing question, and the silence that followed was due to the fact that the members of the club had almost exhausted their vocabulary of declinations.
Nat walked forward. "See here, fellows," he burst out, with all the earnestness at his command, "why can't you let me in? I'm willing to pay more than my share of expenses; come now, what's the use of having hard feelings?"
"We haven't any, I'm sure," responded Bob, who understood the quick, meaning glances of his companions; "and I hope you won't feel offended; but we got up this little club without ever intending to increase the membership."
"Don't let him in," growled the "Major," at this point. "He's bad enough on land, and you can't tell what he might be when he gets out on the water."
"But what harm could it do to have one more?" pleaded Nat, who allowed this remark to pass unheeded.
He spoke in such a quiet, contained tone that the Ramblers could scarcely realize that it was the usually hot-headed Nat Wingate who was talking.
"No harm, of course," responded Bob, slowly; "only, for the reasons I have so often given, the club is to be just an exclusive little affair among ourselves."
"Good!" observed the "Major," approvingly. "You kids ain't such a pack of ninnies as I first suspicioned."
Nat Wingate's manner began to change. "Don't pay any attention to him," he said, as his brown eyes flashed ominously. "For the last time, won't you vote me in, as member number six?"