“Sure. I did it at home once; for dad and me. We have some prepared flour here, and the directions are on the package. You fellows go outside, and when the cakes are ready I’ll call you in to supper.”
“That suits me,” observed Bart, and the others assented joyfully. Leaving Frank in the cook-tent, they busied themselves about various things, awaiting the call for supper, and with no great amount of patience, for they were hungry.
“Do you fellows smell anything,” asked Bart, after a long wait, and he sniffed the air strongly.
“You don’t mean to say Frank’s burning those cakes, do you?” inquired Ned anxiously.
“No, I don’t smell him cooking them at all,” answered Bart. “They ought to be pretty nearly done by this time, for it doesn’t take long. Maybe he’s in trouble. I’m going to take a look.”
He advanced cautiously to peer into the cook tent, whence came a series of rather queer sounds. Bart took one look through the flap, and then beckoned to his chums.
“Look, but don’t laugh,” he cautioned them.
It was well he did, for the sight that met their eyes made them want to howl. Frank was in the midst of the tent, surrounded by several pots, pans, pails, dishes and other receptacles, filled with pancake batter. He was industriously stirring more in the bread-pan, and there was a puzzled look on his face.
“Hang it all,” Frank’s chums heard him mutter, “I can’t seem to get this stuff right. Guess it needs more flour.” He put some into the batter he was mixing, and then stirred it. “Now it’s too thick,” he remarked. “It needs more water.” He poured the fluid in with a too lavish hand, it seemed, for he murmured: “Gee whiz! Can’t I get this right? Now I’ve got it too thin. I’ll have to empty part of it out.”