The Outdoor Chums on the Gulf by Captain Quincy [pseud.] Allen
page 38 of 191 (19%)
page 38 of 191 (19%)
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be appetizing. They had been in the woods so much now that even the
poorest cook in the club, Will, was picking up quite a little knowledge of the art, and felt an occasional desire to show off. The boys never got over joking poor Will about his first experience in cooking rice, however. He had put the entire four pounds in a pot while the rest were away. One of them, coming back to camp presently, found Will in distress. He had filled every kettle and pannikin with the swelling rice, and despite the glistening heaps the original kettle was still boiling up heaps of it, so that it threatened to even smother the fire. He knew better now. After the meal was over they sat around, taking things easy. Frank was writing in his logbook, Will monkeying with his camera, while Jerry and Bluff sat there discussing something that had to do with their respective lung power--a question never, as yet, fully settled, although they had had many a friendly contest to thresh out this rivalry. "Frank, don't look up, please! Listen to me!" said Will in a low voice. "Well, what is it?" asked the other, simply pausing in the act of writing a word. "I saw something moving over behind that bunch of saw-palmettos on your left. Pretending not to be looking, I squinted out of the tail of my eye. What do you think I saw? The head of a black man raised--an awfully wicked-looking head, too, Frank. What had we better do about it?" went on Will, his whispering voice quivering. |
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