“There won’t be many of the gang left around town by next fall,” said Frank. “What with some going to college and others going to work, the class will be pretty well broken up by then.”
“I hope we’ll get good weather for the picnic,” ventured Joe.
“The class had good luck on the exams,” Iola reminded him; “so we should have good luck with the weather.”
Iola’s optimism was justified. When the day for the picnic dawned the sky was cloudless, the day was warm and clear. Mrs. Hardy had prepared a big basket of good things for the Hardy boys to take with them, and they stowed the basket in the roadster along with their bathing suits and baseball gloves. They had arranged to call for Callie Shaw in the car, while Iola was to go with Chet in his roadster.
It was to be a real picnic—“not one of these afternoon teas,” as Chet expressed it. All members of the class had been notified to meet at Beach Grove by ten o’clock in the morning and when Callie and the Hardy boys reached the grove they found a dozen others already on hand. Chet arrived a few minutes later with Iola and Biff Hooper, whom he had picked up on the road, and by half past ten the crowd was complete.
Beach Grove was just off the Shore Road and extended to a sandy beach on the shore of Barmet Bay. There were many paths through the woods, a grassy meadow which was ideal for baseball games and races, and the park keeper had granted them permission to use a little building in the grove where a stove and kitchen facilities were installed. The boys lit a fire and busied themselves bringing up driftwood from the beach, while some of the girls settled down to preparing lunch and opening up the numerous baskets at their disposal.
The Hardy boys and the other lads went down to the beach for a swim before lunch, and had some fine sport on an improvised raft which they took turns in defending against all comers. Chet Morton became unduly ambitious and tried to improvise a sailboat out of a plank and an old piece of tarpaulin he found on the shore, but the sailboat came to grief and tipped Chet into the water, to the hilarious delight of his companions.
By the time the swim was over and the boys returned to the Grove they had developed lusty appetites for lunch, and there were loud cheers when Callie, as chief cook, hammered a tune on a tin plate with a poker, announcing that the meal was ready. There was hot coffee, heaping bowls of baked beans, stacks of sandwiches, plates of potato salad, and cake and fruit without end. The boys and girls sat beneath the trees and ate from tin plates until they could eat no more.
Chet, alone, looked discontented when lunch was over.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Tony Prito. “Didn’t you like it? I thought it was the best meal I ever tasted.”
“The meal was all right,” said Chet dolefully.
“Then why are you looking so glum?”
“I never have any luck,” confessed Chet. “Something always goes wrong.”
“Didn’t you get enough to eat?” asked Callie anxiously. “There is a lot more potato salad.”
“No, thanks. I don’t think I could eat any more potato salad—not just now, at any rate. It was very good potato salad but I couldn’t eat any more right now. Maybe in an hour or so—oh, well, it doesn’t matter.”
“If the meal was all right and you got enough, what’s all the trouble?” asked Frank Hardy.
“I saw you take three helpings of beans,” added Joe.
“That’s why I feel so badly.”
“Got a tummy-ache?” asked Iola solicitously.
“No. But, you see, I liked the beans so well that I took two helpings after the first one, and I liked the potato salad so well I took two helpings of that, extra, and then I saw some sandwiches I liked real well and I ate about a dozen of them, and then somebody passed around angel food cake so I ate that, and then I didn’t have any room for anything else.”
“I think you did very well,” remarked Jerry Gilroy. “I don’t see where you have any kick coming.”
“I like chocolate cake. It’s my favorite cake,” declared Chet gloomily.
“There was plenty of chocolate cake,” said his sister. “There are two chocolate cakes left right now.”
“Save ’em for supper,” advised Chet. “That was the big trouble. I like chocolate cake so well that I feel bad because I was so full by the time it reached me I couldn’t eat any.”
The others looked at one another helplessly.
“What can you do with a fellow like that?” demanded Phil Cohen. “He’s never satisfied.”
“I think he needs exercise,” said Iola threateningly.
“Now, don’t!” pleaded Chet, who had found a soft spot beneath a shady tree and was preparing to go to sleep.
“Maybe you boys don’t know it,” said Iola, “but I do. Chet is ticklish!”
“Don’t, Iola!” clamored the victim.
But Iola advanced on her brother and tickled him until he yelled for mercy, whereat the others, delighted at the exposure of this secret, pounced on the luckless Chet and rubbed his ribs until he was forced to make his escape. They chased him through the meadow, shouting with laughter, and back and forth among the trees until he could run no longer.
“It’ll help him digest those three helpings of beans and potato salad,” said Iola, without sympathy.
Having concluded their attentions to Chet, the classmates organized an impromptu program of sports, with races, a ball game and a blindfold boxing match between Biff Hooper, Jerry Gilroy, Phil Cohen and Tony Prito, which ended without casualties. Biff, who prided himself on his boxing ability, wandered away from the others and tackled a large tree, under the impression that it was Jerry. After dealing a dozen terrific blows without knocking out the enemy he tore off
