"That's what I call a bit of good news," said Bob. "Let's have a bite to eat—that is if Chubby is willing."
"Willing?" groaned Dave, as he lolled at full length. "I couldn't go a step further without something to strengthen me. If there was only a store around where a fellow could get a plate of ice cream, eh? Um—um."
"Wish to thunder we could swim to Hank Merwin's," remarked Dick, with a glance toward the swift current.
"Not as much as I do," said Dave, languidly.
"Hank is a crackerjack at cooking," put in Havens. "Most likely he'll get up a fine spread, if we reach there in time."
"Eh? That sounds interesting," said Dave. "We must give him a chance. Come ahead, fellows," and he sank back on the turf and closed his eyes.
A little judicious tickling with a blade of grass soon brought him to his feet, however, whereupon the boys, in single file, began to trudge along the bank.
In about half an hour they reached a dilapidated log cabin.
"H'm—about the worst wreck I ever saw," commented Bob. "Struck by lightning, blown over by a cyclone, or knocked out by an earthquake?"
"All three—I should say," chimed in Dick, with a grin. "More logs lying about the ground than on the walls."