The Girls of Central High on Lake Luna: or, The Crew That Won. Morrison Gertrude W.
Lake" said Chet.
"My goodness! In this state?" mourned Purt. "Only fawncy!"
"You can't fly home," said Jess. "Somebody is bound to see you."
"Let's take off our shoes, wring out our socks, and put 'em on again, and then walk over to the amusement park," said Chet.
"And if you girls will paddle over we'll treat you to ice cream," added Lance.
"You are trying to bribe us – I see," declared Laura, laughing again.
"Just so," said Lance. "We'll stand treat if you don't tell everybody how we had to jump out of Purt's old boat."
There was a good deal of laughter at this; but finally the four girls agreed and the boys helped them into the water again with their canoes. It was not far to the amusement park at the west end of Cavern Island, and the three partially dried boys arrived there about the time that the two canoes reached the landing.
There was a good deal of fun while the seven young folks were eating the cream. Purt Sweet slunk into his seat in the corner, striving to hide his bedraggled apparel. He tucked a paper napkin into the front of his waistcoat, and so hid the hideous color scheme of the gaudy shirt, the stripes of which had spread with wondrous rapidity. Then he buttoned his coat tightly to hide the ruined waistcoat; but the coat was tight anyway, and the ducking had done it no good.
"I believe, on my life, Purt," chuckled Chet, "that the coat is shrinking on you. That tailor cheated you this time – I know he did. If the coat gets much smaller, and you eat much more ice cream, you'll burst through the coat at all the seams like a full-blown cotton-blossom."
"Better let me eat the ice cream for you, old man," advised Lance, seriously. "Don't make an exhibition of yourself here."
"That's what I am," said Purt, sadly. "Fawncy meeting any of the Stricklands, or the Tarbot-Rushes, or General Maline's people, here when I'm in this condition. Weally, it is dweadful to contemplate."
"It's tough, I allow," said Chet callously. "What you need is a mask and a blanket to disguise yourself."
"You're not likely to meet any of Centerport's Four Hundred over here at Cavern Island Park," laughed Laura. "So you need not fear."
"I should think you would be just as ashamed presenting yourself before us as before those Maline girls," said Jess, tossing her head. "I am insulted. No! you cannot pay for my ice cream, Mr. Sweet. Chet will pay for it."
"Gee, Jess," chuckled Lance Darby. "If you eat more'n two dishes Chet will go broke. I know the state of his finances to-day. And Purt always has plenty of money."
"Weally, Miss Morse," urged Pretty, who was not usually prone to spend his money. "Weally, you must let me pay the check – for all. It is my treat, you know. And I assure you, I had no intention of saying anything to offend you."
"But you consider those Maline girls – and they are the homeliest girls in Centerport – of more importance than Laura and Dora and Dorothy and me. You're not ashamed to appear before us with your outfit all smudged up!"
"But, my dear Miss Morse!" gasped Pretty.
"Don't you 'dear' me, Mister!" ejaculated Jess, with every appearance of anger. "If I'm not as good as Sissy Maline – "
"Oh, you are! You are!" declared Purt, in haste. "You misunderstand. I am in this horrid state. But – you see – you saw it happen and realize that it was an unavoidable accident – "
"Nothing of the kind!" snapped Jess, still apparently unyielding. "If you hadn't tried to smoke a nasty cigarette – "
"Oh, I assure you it was a very mild one. I have them made extremely mild – and with my monogram on the paper. Weally, you know – "
"Horrid thing! You're the only boy who smokes them that we know. What do you say, girls? Sha'n't we cut Purt right off of our calling lists if he doesn't give up monogrammed cigarettes?"
"They're the worst kind," murmured Chet. "The monogram makes 'em so much more deadly."
"I tried one of Purt's coffin nails once – ugh!" admitted Lance. "He calls 'em mild. But he's so saturated with nicotine that he doesn't know what 'mild' means. I believe they make his cigarettes out of rope-yarn and distilled opium. One puff made me ill all day."
"Impossible, dear boy!" gasped Purt.
"I believe it's as Lance says," said Laura, gravely. "And Purt sets a very bad example for the other boys."
"Sure!" grinned her brother. "We're all likely to run off and send for a thousand monogrammed cigarettes."
"What! what!" cried Jess. "Did Purt buy a thousand?"
"I – I had to, Miss Josephine, to get the monogram printed on the wrapper, you know."
"Come," said Laura, still with a serious air. "We must decide what is to be done with this culprit, girls."
"I think he should not be allowed to associate with any of the girls of Central High," said one of the twins.
"Or with the boys, either," suggested Lance.
"His example is dreadfully bad," said Jess.
"Weally! I assure you – " panted Purt, wrigging all over, and not quite sure whether the girls meant it, or were "rigging" him.
"Have you any more of those nasty cigarettes with you?" demanded Laura, sternly.
Purt, looking greatly abashed, hauled out a saturated case of seal leather and displayed nine of the pulpy looking things.
"So you only smoked one of them to-day?" was the next demand.
"And he only just got that lit when the vapor from the gasoline caught fire. Like to have burned him to death," grunted Chet.
"That single smoke was certainly a very expensive one for you, Master Purt," declared Laura. "For perhaps it has cost you your motor-boat At least, it has cost you more than the whole thousand cigarettes were worth. Kindly throw those disreputable looking things away!"
Purt obeyed instantly by tossing case and all into the lake.
"Ugh! now you'll poison the fish," complained Jess.
"Never mind the fish," said Laura, still intent upon the victim. "Now, Purt, how many cigarettes have you left at home?"
"Oh – I – ah – "
"Do not prevaricate!" commanded the girl. "Answer at once."
"Why – I – I have most of the thousand left," admitted Purt.
"Say! you always carry around a full case to flash on the fellows – I see you," cried Lance.
"Ye – es," admitted Purt.
"Tell the truth, sir! How many of the horrid things have you left at home?"
Purt looked up at her, blinked a couple of times, swallowed like a toad that has snapped up a live coal, and then blurted out:
"Nine hundred and ninety!"
At that a howl of laughter went up from the crowd.
"And – and you – you've nev – never smoked even one?" gasped Laura, at last.
"Not until to-day," replied the sadly abashed Purt.
"Oh, hold me, somebody!" cried Lance. "And he's had those cigarettes for three months, I know!"
"Purt, you'll be the death of us yet," declared Chet Belding, wiping his eyes.
"I – I couldn't get used to the taste of them in my mouth," confessed the dude.
"You're more fun than a box of monkeys!" declared Lance.
"That reminds me, girls," said Chet, suddenly, and picking up the checks to pay the bill before Purt Sweet could get around to it. "There's an enormously funny monkey over here. Trained to a hair. I saw him over in Centerport when his owner brought him through – "
"I saw that monkey – with a piano organ. And such a nice looking Italian with it," declared Laura.
"Look out, Lance," whispered