“You, you old lobster; and Roy, too. I’m bored to death, if you want to know; and I don’t care who hears it. I say let’s _do_ something. We’ve stuck around the camp here for two days and played cards till I can’t tell a king from a four-spot. I want excitement!” And in proof of the assertion Chub rolled over backward off his box and flourished his legs in air. The others laughed and good nature returned to Camp Torohadik. “Well, what is there to do?” asked Dick. “You suggest something and we’ll do it. If the launch was only here--” “You and your launch!” jeered Chub. “It was going to be here in six days, and it’s eight now. I don’t believe you bought it.” “It may be at the Cove now,” answered Dick. “Suppose we go down and see?” “Oh, there’s no fun paddling around in this sort of weather,” said Roy. “We’ll go up to the Cottage and telephone. Then if it is there we can go down in the canoe and get it and we won’t have to paddle home.” “Won’t we?” asked Chub, ironically. “How do you propose to get the launch up here?” “We’ll get you to push it,” answered Dick. “Well, let’s go over and telephone, then. That’ll take Chub’s mind from his troubles.” “And, say,” added Chub, “while we’re there, let’s have a couple of sets of tennis. Harry and I will play you two.” “Harry won’t be through practising until three or half past,” answered Roy. “Besides, it doesn’t seem quite fair, somehow, to play tennis when you’re camping out.” “Fair be blowed!” said Chub. “If it will keep me from growing dippy, it’s all right, isn’t it?” They agreed that it was, and after the dinner things were cleared up they tumbled into the canoe and paddled over to the landing. As they neared the Cottage the dismal strains of the piano, suffering an agony of scales and five-finger exercises, reached them. “Poor Harry!” sighed Roy. “She’s worse off than we are.” They stole up to the window and rapped on the pane, and when Harry looked startledly up she was confronted with a row of three grinning faces whose owners applauded silently with their hands. She flew across to the window and threw it open. “What is it?” she demanded eagerly. “Nothing. We came up to telephone to the Cove to see if the launch has come. How much longer have you to torture that piano?” “About--” Harry looked doubtfully at the little gilt clock on the mantel--“about half an hour--or twenty minutes.” “Make it fifteen,” said Chub, “and come on out and play tennis. Dick and Roy against you and me. A cinch!” “I can’t,” faltered Harry. “I have to practice two hours, you know. Mama’s away. If she were here I might skimp a little, but I don’t like to cheat when she’s gone.” “That’s a noble sentiment,” said Dick. “Go ahead and do your worst, Harry; we’ll wait for you.” “We’ll get our rackets and go over to the court,” said Roy. “You’ll have to put the net up,” said Harry. “But don’t you go and begin to play till I come. Promise!”