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Updated: May 13, 2025
Who pulled off that stunt on us?" bleated a few of the mystified younger boys, while Stud silently brushed moisture like cave-tears from his forehead. So did the tall Scoutmaster, heavily breathing relief. "Not an aëroplane in sight! Not a single one!" breezed the girls, all ready to be angry. "Who who put that hoax over?" "Varnish right and aëroplane wrong!"
"They certainly are a perfect 'scream', those big boys," her eyes merrily following that clamor of color now wending back towards the canoes. "Humph! they'd have to 'go some' to leaven the blues of Tory Cave," remarked the Scoutmaster, laughingly addressing himself to a roll. "The biggest bonfire on earth wouldn't half dry the cave-tears there."
Ruddy, the slipslop explorer, had gone in heels over head, so to speak. He was hanging by the heels now. Nothing visible of him but those pinioned feet! "Hea-vens! he did strike a blind bargain. S-such a snag! The passage ends here. A drop! A blank fall of rock! Gee-ee!" Dank dank as cave-tears now was the moisture upon Stud's forehead. For the first time his teeth almost chattered.
For Stud's hand was groping mechanically for the bright little lamp above his forehead, as if for inspiration, his left for the lariat at his waist, in defiance of his threat that the desperado in the "pot" might have tears in his eyes before he would help him. But there was something worse than cave-tears in question now of that Studart felt sure.
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