“Can’t you spare an afternoon and go fishing with us?” Tom asked. “Don’t know about that! I’d like to right well, though. I’ve got to putter around over at the mountain in the morning; they’re going to revet some of the land where the shore line will run. I’ve got a couple of men coming down from up Lake Champlain to fill a lot of trees, if they ever get here. I was expecting them yesterday. They’ve got cement enough over there to close up the Grand Canyon. You may see me with my trained dentists in the afternoon. Be around?” “We were thinking of following the White Bar Trail east to-morrow,” said Tom; “maybe up as far as Prairie Spoke. Do you know anything about Bockey Swamp?” “Scout trails, eh? N-no. That’ll be an all day hike, I dare say?” “We’ve got one coming to us,” Brent said. “Yes, you get in the habit of lying around in a place like this,” Lawton said. “Well, so long, I may see you later.” “Hang around for supper if you’re here,” Tom said. “Make yourself at home till we get here and we’ll have another crack at pinochle.” “You might put some potatoes cooking at about five or so if you’re here,” said Brent; “put a little salt in the water.” Lawton laughed good-humoredly as he went away. CHAPTER XXIX—The Old Elm The next morning something happened, trivial in itself, but destined to have a bearing on the course of this chronicle. The campers used up the last of their coffee for breakfast. After the usual playful expedient of trying to squeeze more out of the tin can, they found that even their supply for that particular breakfast was insufficient. A camp without coffee (whatever you may hear to the contrary notwithstanding) is as sad a thing as a camp without a camp fire. “I don’t see but what we’ll have to bust into civilization,” said Brent. “I wonder if we look like a couple of Rip Van Winkles. Where do you suppose is the nearest grocery store?” “Sandyfield? Scout Headquarters?” “Let’s hike to Sloatsburg,” said Brent, “and that will give me a chance to buy a sweater. I’d like to explore the country southwest of here anyway. Let’s see if we can find a way out to the south and come back along the Sloatsburg road.” “Suits me,” said Tom, always ready for anything in the way of exploratory hiking. They struck into the trailless section south of Breakneck Mountain and pushed along in a westerly direction till they bumped into a trail running north and south. This brought them into the Tuxedo-Mt. Ivy Trail which they followed to the easterly end of Half Way Mountain. A leisurely exploration of this long mountain brought them out at Pine Meadow Brook. And so they passed out of the reservation to Sloatsburg by an unfrequented route.