So the fat scout commenced a systematic search, Every single pocket did he feel in with trembling fingers, while his comrade watched his face anxiously, knowing that it was likely to indicate the success or failure of the search.
When he saw a sudden grin come upon that broad countenance Giraffe felt like bursting out into a yell of joy.
“Got one, haven’t you Bumpus?” he exclaimed, eagerly. “That was a bully good idea of mine after all, you see, having you look again. Say, won’t we be careful of that one precious match, though? And won’t we have the fine dry stuff all ready to kindle, as soon as I strike it. You must let me handle things, Bumpus, because, you know, I’m more used to–what’s the matter with you? Don’t tell me it ain’t a match after all? Oh! thunder!”
Bumpus had slowly drawn his hand out of his pocket, and held some object up between his forefinger and his thumb. It was about the length of a match, but had a sharpened point, instead of a blunt head.
“A–a miserable toothpick that I just dropped into my pocket when we ate that dinner at the restaurant!” groaned the wretched Bumpus, staring first at the offending object, and then turning a piteous face toward his comrade.
Giraffe managed to rise to the occasion. Perhaps he remembered that Thad had really committed the other into his charge; and that it was to him the scoutmaster would look to give a good account of the expedition. And then again, Bumpus was so shocked by the series of calamities which had befallen them that he looked almost ready to collapse.
So Giraffe drew himself up, and assumed a confidence that he was far from feeling.
“Don’t take on so, Bumpus,” he went on to say, almost cheerily. “It may not be so very bad, after all. Don’t let’s forget that we’re scouts; and must keep a stiff upper lip whenever things turn out wrong. We’ll just do the best we can; and I reckon it’ll all come out right in the end. It nearly always does, you know.”
At least his words and manner had some effect on the almost exhausted fat boy, who brightened up more or less.
“Now, that’s nice of you talking that way, Giraffe,” he said. “You’re the right kind of a chum to have in time of trouble. But say, ain’t it gettin’ cold though? Is that why you’re slapping your arms around so?”