The newspaper man slapped him on the shoulder. “You don’t know how much I appreciate your offer, Cranny,” he exclaimed. “But won’t you——”
“No, I won’t,” laughed Cranny.
Several times during the day the discussion was renewed, without, however, altering in the least the lad’s decision.
As hour after hour passed without the expected attack materializing, the town resumed its normal aspect, and those of its inhabitants whose systems seemed to require a great deal of sleep went back to that pleasant occupation in the most shady places they could find.
“You chaps can see now what a good thing it was we didn’t make an awful rush for the International bridge,” commented Cranny, as they sat out on the veranda that night. “I’m beginnin’ to weaken on that sleepin’ volcano stuff.”
“I guess it was all a false alarm,” remarked Dick.
“One never can tell what may happen in Mexico, though,” remarked Edmunds, meditatively.
At last the day on which Bob Somers had promised Dave and the others to return rolled around.
Cranny balked again.
“Yes, Bob; I know you made an iron-clad agreement to slip away from Mexico,” he said, “but just recollect, old chap, I didn’t.”