“Lemme ’lone! I got to climb this rock!” said Peanut.
“What do you think you’re doing? You’ve got to get up!” laughed Art.
“Whaz ’at?” said Peanut. Then he opened his eyes, stared into Art’s face, and added, “Hello! Why, I’m awake!”
Meanwhile, the others had waked, also. Rob looked at his watch. “Six o’clock!” he exclaimed. “That’s what comes of sleeping in bunks. All up, and have a look at the weather!”
The weather seemed propitious. The north peaks were all out, and the great shoulder of Chandler Ridge on Washington, across the white mists which filled the Great Gulf, looked like a stone peninsula thrusting out into a foamy sea. There was only a slight wind, and the sun was pleasantly warm already.
“How’s the grub holding out?” asked Mr. Rogers. “If we have breakfast cooked for us inside, it will cost us something. Have we enough left for breakfast and lunch? We’ll have to get supper on the train.”
“Train! Gee whiz, I don’t want to go home! Let’s stay another week,” said Frank.
“That’s the talk!” Peanut cried. “Let’s go down in the Great Gulf and get some trout, and live on them.”
“I’ll shoot a bear with a bow and arrow,” Art added. “We’ll need the meat, too, for we’ve not got more than enough for one good meal—except vegetables. We’ve got a lot of spinach left, ’cause we’ve hardly ever stayed anywhere long enough to soak it, unless we’d had it for breakfast.”
Peanut fished in his rear pocket and produced his purse. “I’ve got enough to buy breakfast, if the caretaker’ll sell us any, and a sleeper home,” he announced. “Golly, though, where’s my return ticket!”