"Oh, this is grewsome!" gasped Ripley at last, the coward in him
coming to the surface strongly. "I can't stand this any longer!"
Unconsciously he spoke aloud, his voice rising to a wail. Then
as he let the folds of canvas fall, a voice inside called angrily:
"Quit that! I want to get out."
It was Dave Darrin's voice, and Dave was the quickest-tempered
one of the six boys.
Fred knew that it behooved him to get away from the spot at once.
There was a wriggling under the canvas. Ripley turned to flee.
Gr-r-r-r! Towser stood barring his path.
"Hurry up, Darrin!" appealed Fred, as Towser moved closer, showing
his teeth. "Hurry! Or this dog will chew me up."
"Who's there?" called Darrin, thrusting his head out of the collapsed
tent, then drawing the rest of his body after.
Another flash of lightning showed Ripley's frightened face.
"Oh, you, is it?" uttered Dave in a tone full of scorn.
"Hurry and quiet this bull-dog!" the lawyer's son insisted.
"Don't worry," retorted Darrin calmly. "Towser wouldn't sink
his teeth very deep in you! He's a self-respecting dog."
Now that one of the members of the canoe club was on the spot,
the bull pup displayed less ferocity. He contented himself with
eyeing Fred, ready to spring at a second's notice.
"What has happened?" demanded Dave, looking rather bewilderedly
at the tent.
"Your shack was struck by lightning," Fred answered glibly, and
then, ever ready to lie, he added, "I was passing by in the car,
in a hurry to get back to the hotel, and I saw the thing happen.
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