"Oh, what a shame that you boys have no ice, and no way of getting it or keeping it! I could fix you for a month's supply of meat!" "Dick, do you remember what we came out here in the woods for ?" queried Tom.
"To camp, and have a good time," Prescott laughed.

"And, so far, we win.

We're having a bully time!" "What else did we come out here for ?" "To harden and train ourselves so that we can make a hard try for the Gridley High School football eleven this fall." "Will a week of training table undo the harm of to-day's big feasts ?" groaned Reade.
"No fellow is obliged to make a glutton of himself," retorted Dick.
"Maybe not," quoth Tom, "but everyone of us will be sorely tempted.
You ought to see that pudding that Jim Hornby is putting up." "Young man, are you going to get that heart to cooking before it goes bad in the sun ?" asked Mr.Ross sharply.
Tom meekly turned and started toward camp.
"What's Greg doing ?" Dick called after him.
"Holmesy is watching, learning the way Jim Hornby puts up a boiled pudding," Reade called back.
Honk! honk! sounded an automobile horn from the rough trail of a roadway an eighth of a mile away.

The honking continued until Dick, realizing that it was a signal, gave a loud halloo.
"Is that Prescott's camp ?" called a voice.
"It's the camp of Prescott and his friends," Dick shouted back.
"Get ready for visitors, then!" called the voice again, and this time Dick recognized the voice as that of Dr.Bentley.
"We won't eat you out of supplies, though," called the doctor, now heading through the forest.

"We're bringing with us our own cold lunch." "Cold lunch!" Dick chuckled back.