Then he began to listen for footsteps crunching the sand.
But no sound save the lapping of water on the beach and the creaking of a boom on an unseen boat reached him.
"It would serve him right to leave him here," he muttered resentfully.
"Anyway, I'm not going to yell at him any more.

I suppose he's so taken up with his poison-ivy business that he can't think of anything else.
Wonder if I got into that stuff, too!" The idea was distinctly unwelcome.

He thought he recalled brushing through leaves as he crossed the wall.

He had never had any experience with poison-ivy and didn't know whether or not he was susceptible, but it seemed to him that there was a distinct itching sensation on his back.

He squirmed uncomfortably.
Then a prickly feeling on his left wrist set him to rubbing it.