“She didn’t do anything. She just said ‘Go way wid you now, Pathrick,’ as if she was half asleep and dreaming. Pathrick must be in the habit of jumping on her.”
“Well, if she likes it, that’s her business, not yours,” suggested Harry. “Go to sleep, do!”
“I am going to sleep; but I don’t think we ought to spend our nights in getting run down by steamboats and jumping on strange fat women. I’m sure it isn’t right. There, you needn’t throw any more shoes at me! I won’t say another word.”
CHAPTER XI.
BOYS,” said Tom, as he was kindling the fire the next morning, “do you know what day it is?”
“Saturday, of course,” replied the others.
“You’re wrong; it’s Sunday.”
“It can’t be,” exclaimed Harry.
“But it is,” persisted Tom. “Last night was the sixth night that we’ve slept out-doors, and we started on a Monday.”