“If anybody tumbles, I hope it’s the M. D.,” Tom laughed. “He’s just a little bit fond of Dr. Kent,—strikes me.”
“Sh! You forget he’s climbed the Matterhorn,” said Mills.
He went on to his cabin, and the boys settled down in their own tent.
“Well, old Joey, here you are home!” Tom cried, giving him a slap. “Gee, wifey, it’s been lonely for a whole week without you!”
“And it’s some nice to get back,” said Joe. “It sure seems like home, this little old tent, and Mr. Rogers’ little old cot. Slept on the floor last night, and on the ground all the other nights. Oh, you cot!”
He sank luxuriously down, wrapped in his blankets, and let Tom blow out the lantern.
“Home!” he sighed, sleepily. “Just a little old tent, but home—with old Spider snoring in the other bunk.”
“I don’t snore!” Tom retorted. “It’s you who snore.”
“You may if you want to,” said Joe. “It would take more’n a snore to keep me awake to-night. Oh, you cot! ’Night, Spider.”
“’Night, Joe.”