CHAPTER XIX.
GIRAFFE TRIES FOR THE FOURTEENTH TIME.
“Whatever can we do, Giraffe?” asked Bumpus, presently, after he had sighed several times, in a most forlorn way.
“Oh!” remarked the other, making out to be little concerned about the matter, although his manner did not deceive the fat boy in the least, for he knew Giraffe was worried greatly; “there are lots of things we can do, all right; but you see the trouble is, Bumpus, they ain’t agoin’ to help out much.”
“We’re in a tough hole, all right,” grunted the other, disconsolately.
“Talk about Thad and Step Hen camping out;” Giraffe went on to say, “why their troubles couldn’t be mentioned in the same breath with ours, and you know it. They had aplenty of matches along, and could get all the blaze they wanted.”
“And say, think of having the best part of a fine young buck to cook!” burst out Bumpus, with another groan. “As for us, we’ve got the game all right; but however can we get down to eating partridges that ain’t ever even been near a fire.”
“Quit talkin’ of eating, Bumpus; you fairly set me wild,” declared the tall boy, rubbing his empty stomach, as though its calls were growing more insistent with a knowledge that they must pass unheeded now.
“Then you must be hungry?” suggested Bumpus.
“Hungry ain’t no name for it,” Giraffe replied. “That’s always the way, I’ve been told. When there ain’t no water, a feller feels as if his tongue was stickin’ to the roof of his mouth. And Bumpus, bein’ hungry ain’t the very worst of it, either!”