“Good enough for me, I suppose,” grimaced Greg, seating himself once more when he had cleaned his mouth fairly well.  Dave, who had turned over to grin at Greg, soon rolled back to his old posture on the grass.

Greg, however, was not disposed to let the matter pass as easily as the others imagined.  Shortly Holmesy jumped astride of Dave and rolled that youth over on to his back.

“I didn’t eat all of the sod,” young Holmes announced.  “You may have the rest, Darry.  How does it taste?”

Dave shut his mouth tightly, but Greg held his nostrils.  The instant that Darrin opened his mouth for air Holmes rammed in the piece of sod.  Then he jumped up, retreating.

It was now Dave’s turn to jump up and work vigorously getting the stuff out of his month.

“Tastes immense, doesn’t it, Dave?” called Holmes tantalizingly.

No answer in words came from Darrin, but he suddenly wheeled, charging straight at Greg.  Doubtless the latter would have gotten out of the way safely, but that Dick thrust out a foot, tripping Dave as he bounded by.

Darrin came down upon his knees.  The hotheaded youth was now very close to being angry in earnest.

“Hold up, Dave!” Prescott advised.  “You started it, you know.  You will have to show that a joke is just as funny whether it’s going or coming.”

“That’s right, old chap,” agreed Dave, halting and beginning to cool.  “Greg, come here and shake hands.”

“You shake hands with Tom,” Holmes retorted suspiciously.  “I appoint Tom my substitute, with full powers.”

“I’d sooner fight Tom than you,” mused Dave, gazing down at Reade, who did not appear to be very much disturbed.  “Tom is the fellow who’s always bringing his appetite along on the finest days that heaven has sent us.”

Dick Prescott lazily drew out his watch and glanced at it.  Then he rose, remarking: 

“You may stay here and get all the comfort you can out of nature, Dave.  But it’s half past five and I guess the rest of us will want to be nearer to the source of kitchen odors.”

“Whew!  If it’s any such time as that I’m going to move fast,” cried Harry Hazelton, leaping to his feet.  “At our house supper is on at six o’clock, and anyone who gets in late has to take what’s left.”

“Are your folks so poor as that?” laughed Tom.

“Hardly,” returned Harry.  “But both dad and mother are sticklers for everyone being in his seat on time.”

By this time five of the chums had started across the broad, sunny field toward the rather dusty road.

“Coming, Dave?” Dick called, looking back.

“Oh, yes,” grunted Darrin.  “But I hate to see all of you fellows running as though you didn’t know whether you’d ever get another meal.”

“I wonder what is Dave’s sudden grouch against the eats,” Tom mused aloud.  “I’ve seen him at a few meals, and he was always a clever performer.”