Tyndall, after surveying
the various wrapped bundles of high school boy humanity. "But
can't you raise enough energy to come over in an hour?"
"If the Gridley people are really our friends," protested Tom
Reade, opening his eyes, "they'll let us sleep through until to-morrow
morning. We nearly killed our tender young selves in that last
big spurt, and now we must rest our bones and aching muscles."
"But what can I tell the folks at the hotel?" begged Mr. Tyndall.
"Tell 'em that we appreciate their kindness," laughed Dick.
"All right. I'll tell them---something," murmured Mr. Tyndall,
as he turned away.
"Up, all of you fellows!" commanded Dick Prescott. "This doesn't
look very gracious on our part, when an entertainment has been
arranged for us. We'll go, and attend to our aches to-morrow."
But when the referee of the afternoon noted how stiffly they
all moved he found himself filled with compassion.
"Don't you try to come over, boys," he urged. "You're too stiff
and sore to-night. Some people, myself included, don't realize
that fifteen-year-old boys haven't the bodily stamina of men of
twenty-five. You did a splendid bit of work this afternoon,
and now you're entitled to your rest."
"We'll get over there, somehow," Dick promised.
"No; you won't. Don't you try it. The Gridley visitors would
be brutes to try to drag you out to-night. I shan't let you go,
and I shall tell the home folks that you're enjoying a well-won
rest.
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