"'Altogether, life in a lumber camp must not only appeal to the lover of nature, but to those artistically inclined. Toward the dusk of evening, when—'"
A swift movement on Dave's part suddenly interrupted the reading. With a cheery laugh, the stout boy stepped back, stuffing his precious pages into an inside pocket.
"Oh, you rude thing!" sniffed the highly disgusted Tom.
"A thousand pities not to let us hear all of that perfectly lovely effusion," said Tim. "Come, Dave, that's a good chap, hand it out."
But no amount of withering comments, gentle persuasion, or direful threats had the least effect. So Jack Conroy merely sat upon Tommy, figuratively and actually, for being so easy.
There was nothing for them to do but patiently await the time when the "Osprey," Don Mason, Master, should weigh anchor. Jack Conroy and Dave Brandon were the only lads who didn't bubble over with enthusiasm, and long for the great moment to arrive.
That night, after the lamps in their cabin were lighted, Pete Colliver again pressed his face against the window-pane.
He was promptly admitted.
Pete immediately plumped himself down on the most comfortable chair, crossed his legs, and proceeded, by winks and extraordinary grimaces, to attract more than usual attention.
"Hello! Got anythin' in your eye, Pete?" asked Jack.