"Sometimes I think that I don't get full opportunities to expand here in this wretched country hole." "No, the West is the place," agreed Bill, with an inward smile, "as the newspapers say--one can expand with the country out there." Their conversation was broken in upon by Sam, who demanded in no very gentle tones: "Well, who's going ashore?
I'm off." "No hurry, Sam," said Jack in a more amiable tone than he had yet used that morning.

"Let's sit around here a while and enjoy the sun--we might take a swim after a while." "If you don't come now you'll have to swim ashore," grunted Sam, arising and brushing the sand from himself.

"I'm going back to Hampton.

I'm tired of camping out here." He walked toward the beach and prepared to shove off the dinghy, preparatory to sculling out to the hydroplane, which lay a few rods off shore in the channel.
"Hold on, Sam," cried Bill; "we're coming.

Don't go away sore." "I'm not sore," rejoined Sam, in a tone which belied his words, "but I don't think you fellows are doing the right thing when you maroon a kid like Joe Digby on a lone island, in a deserted bungalow in which you'd be scared to stop yourselves." "Why, what's got into you, Sam ?" protested Jack.