“Sure!” Ralph agreed.  “Read the riot act the instant we get home.  By the Lord Harry, if it’s necessary I’ll tie my wife up!”

“I never could do that,” said Pete.

“Nor I,” said Frank.

“Nor I,” said Honey.  “But I don’t think we’ll have to resort to violent measures.  We’ve only got to appeal to their love; I can twist Lulu right round my finger that way.”

“I guess you’re right,” Ralph smiled.  “That always fetches them.”

“I don’t anticipate any real trouble from this,” Billy went on as though arguing with himself.  “We’ve got to take it at the start, though.  We can’t have Angela flying after she’s grown.”

“Sure,” said Honey, “it’ll blow over in a few days.  But now that they can walk, let’s offer to teach them how to dance and play tennis and bocci and golf.  And I’ll tell you what — we’ll lay out some gardens for them — make them think they’re beautifying the place.  We might even teach them how to put up shelves and a few little carpentering tricks like that.  That’ll hold them for a while.  Oh, you’ll all come round to my tactics sooner or later!  Pay them compliments!  Give them presents!  Jolly them along!  And say, it will be fun to have some mixed doubles.  Gee, though, they’ll be something fierce now they’ve learned how to walk.  They’ll be here half the time.  They’ll have so many ideas how the New Camp ought to be built and a woman is such an obstinate cuss.  Asking questions and arguing and interfering — they delay things so.  We’ve got to find out something harmless that’ll keep them busy.”

“Oh, we never can have them here — never in the world,” Ralph agreed.  “But we’ll fix them to-night.  How about it, old top?” he inquired jovially of Frank.

Frank did not answer.

In point of fact they did not “fix” the women that night, owing to the simple reason that they found the camp deserted — not a sign of woman or child in sight or hearing.

“Well, there’s one thing about it,” Ralph said on their way back to the New Camp the next morning, “you can always beat any woman’s game by just ignoring it.  They can stand anything but not being noticed.  Now our play is to do nothing and say nothing.  They’re on this island somewhere.  They can’t walk off it, and they can’t swim off it, and they can’t fly off it.  They may stay away for day or more or possibly two.  By the end of week they’ll certainly be starved out.  And they’ll be longing for our society.  We want to keep right at work as if nothing had happened.  Let them go and come as they please.  But we take no notice — see!  We’ve done that once before and we can do it again.  When they come home, they’ll be a pretty tired-out, hungry, discouraged gang of girls.  I bet we never hear another word out of them on this subject.”

The men worked as usual the whole morning; but they talked less.  They were visibly preoccupied.  At every pause, they glanced furtively up the trail.  When noon came, it was evident that they dropped their tools with relief.  They sat with their eyes glued to the path.