How success finally came, and at a time when it seemed Giraffe really needed a fire, if ever he did in all his life, has been already told in a previous volume of this series.
But the passion for a fire was just as much a part of Giraffe’s nature as it had ever been. And this was why his face lighted up, while his eyes glittered with happiness, when he heard the acting scoutmaster admit they ought to keep a good fire going all evening.
Trust Giraffe for that; a wink was as good as a nod to him, when the subject of fire-building was concerned.
Later on, they sat around enjoying the venison steaks, and the trout which had been so beautifully browned in the frying-pan, after several slices of fat salt pork had been “tried out.”
“What are you putting that lot aside for, Davy?” asked Thad; just as if he did not know the generous thought which impelled the cook to reserve one good big portion of the supper.
“Why, I thought that mebbe Bumpus might poke along after a bit,” replied Davy, adding another crisp trout to the pile he had heaped up, “and if he does, I guess he’s apt to be pretty hungry. Bumpus is a good feeder, we all know.”
“What d’ye suppose made him do it, Thad?” asked Step Hen.
“There,” said the scoutmaster, “that’s the question. None of us really know; but we can give a pretty good guess, eh, boys?”
“I should say, yes,” spoke up Giraffe. “Bumpus has gone clean crazy over this bear business.”
“Said everybody was getting them but him,” put in Smithy; “and I’m sure that doesn’t apply to me in the least. I never expect to get a bear; and my only hope is that no bear will get me.”