David, little giant, take my advice---fast to-night." "I will, if the rest of you fellows will," challenged Darrin quickly.
"The truth is out," Tom burst out laughing.

"Darry, by that slip of the tongue you admitted that you've been eating too much and that you're all out of sorts." Dave did not deny.

He merely snorted, from which sign of defiance his chums could gain no information.
They had gone another quarter of a mile through the woods when Dick, now alone in the lead, suddenly halted, holding up one hand as a signal to halt, while he rested the fingers of his other hand over his lips as a command for silence.
"What is it ?" whispered Darrin, stepping close.
"Fred Ripley, Bert Dodge and some of their fellows," Dick whispered, at the same time pointing through the leaves.
"Well, we don't have to halt, just because they're around," retorted Darrin, snorting.

"If they try to pick any trouble with us we can give 'em as good as they send.

We've done it once or twice already." "But we don't want to go to fighting on Sunday, if there's any way to avoid it," young Prescott urged, at which four of his chums nodded their heads approvingly.
"I'm not looking for any fight, either," muttered Dave.