In spite of this prospect of problems to come the face of Poke brightened a trifle. But it quickly clouded again.
“Oh, I say, you fellows!” Poke said sharply. “I’m ready to take help from any of you, or from all of you—as a loan, of course; I’ll pay you back—but Varley must be kept out of this! It—it isn’t his funeral.”
“Right-o!” Sam agreed.
“No; this is our party—he’s an outsider!” chimed in the Trojan.
The others nodded approval. Here was a matter purely for the Safety First Club.
“Then we’ll call so much settled,” quoth Sam. “But, talking about Varley, where is he?” He peered hard at the grove of maples, and turned again to his companions. “I haven’t a notion where he can be, or the Shark, either.”
“Oh, I guess they’ll turn up soon enough,” said Step. “Nowhere else for them to go, is there?”
“Not in this rain.”
“Rain!” The Trojan caught at the word. “Rain! Sam, you’ve said it! It’s coming down, good and plenty. And ain’t it funny we were all so busy with Poke’s affairs that we didn’t notice it?”
This was quite true. So absorbed had the club been that no heed had been paid by any of the boys to the steady increase in the rain.