“Shut up!” said Art. “What you really mean is that you want to get some candy.”
“No, I don’t. I got some left from this afternoon.”
“You have!” said Frank. “You old tightwad! Why don’t you pass it around?”
“’Cause I sat on it by mistake,” Peanut answered. “Come on down to the hotel.”
“Maybe we’d better,” Rob put in. “We can all send a card home to our folks.”
“Not forgetting Pinkie,” said Peanut to Art, as he ducked down the path, stumbling in the dark.
Lou took the lantern, and tied his handkerchief to a bough over the entrance to the camp. The rest waited till this was done, and followed behind him. They didn’t catch Peanut till the very bottom.
“That was easy,” he said. “I’m like the old geezer on Moosilauke—got a sixth sense in the soles of my feet. Besides, if you get off the path, you bump into a tree, which knocks you back in.”
The brightly lighted windows of the Crawford House were open, and the sound of the orchestra was floating out. Many people were walking up and down on the veranda. They were all dressed elaborately, many of the men in evening clothes. The little party of five boys and a man, in flannel shirts and khaki, attracted much attention as they entered the lobby of the hotel.
“Gee,” Art whispered, “think of coming to the mountains for a vacation, and having to doll all up in your best rags! That’s not my idea of fun.”