Meanwhile the farmer, muttering crossly, had managed to mend the break with the aid of his knife and a piece of stout cord. Now he climbed on to the seat again and picked up the reins. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?” he asked venomously. “Well,” answered Rob modestly, “far be it from us to sound our own praises.” “You’re a parcel of young fools, that’s what you be! Get ap!” “Whoa!” shouted Jelly. The horse preferred the second command to the first and remained motionless. “Get ap, I say! Get ap!” “Whoa, Dobbin!” was the chorus from the road. Dobbin started and stopped. Then the farmer found his whip in the bottom of the wagon and Dobbin decided to go. “If I wasn’t in a hurry I’d use this whip on you!” shouted the farmer as the horse trotted away. “Look out! He’s running away from you!” bawled Malcolm. Driver and wagon disappeared and the boys took up their journey again, still laughing. The encounter had cheered them up wonderfully. Fifteen minutes later the gymnasium loomed through the fog at the left of the road and their troubles and travels were over. As they cut across the slope toward Holden Malcolm said: “Give me the dishes and things, Rob, and I’ll leave them at the kitchen.” “The di――” Rob looked about in dismay. “Hasn’t anybody got them?” “Haven’t _you_?” demanded Malcolm. “No. I thought――Oh, I remember now. I set them down when we climbed the fence back there. I guess they’re there yet, Mal.” “Well, you’re a wonder! Cook will give me the dickens.” “Oh, I’ll pay for them. They weren’t much good, anyway, after the way Jelly dented them up.” “After _I_ dented them up!” exclaimed Jelly. “I’d like to know what I had to do with it. It was that silly bull!” “Well, you gave them to him to play with, didn’t you? Now don’t try to evade responsibility, Jelly.” “Well, we’ll never get any more,” said Malcolm. “The next time we want to picnic――” “The next time we want to picnic,” said Rob severely, “I hope some one will clap us into an insane asylum. Don’t talk about picnics to me, Mal, or I may do you mortal injury. I’ve had enough picnicking to last me fifty years!” “So have I,” grunted Jelly. “The next time you fellows ask me to go with you――” “_The next time we ask you!_” cried Rob. But words failed him. “I shall simply refuse,” concluded Jelly as he limped away. CHAPTER XIII EVAN RETIRES