“Guess you’re right,” he admitted dubiously. “I’m sorry fellows, but my pancakes are a failure.”
CHAPTER XVII
TREED BY A WILDCAT
They made the best of it, laughing and joking, and the meal was finished on some victuals that remained from the day before. Frank was inclined to blame himself, and, after that, Fenn, because the latter had put the soap powder into the cocoanut box, but the amateur cook’s chums were good-natured over his failure, and comforted him with the proverb “accidents will happen in the best of regulated camps.”
The weather the following day turned out unexpectedly warm, and, as Bart, Fenn and Ned elected to remain in camp, and straighten it out somewhat, besides cleaning their guns, and mending some torn clothes, Frank said:
“Guess I’ll go off, and try my luck, if you fellows don’t mind. Maybe I can bag something.”
“Going alone?” asked Bart, looking up from his rifle, which he had taken apart. “If you wait until after dinner I’ll go along.”
“I don’t mind going alone,” was Frank’s rejoinder, and this was true, for, however good a chum he might be to the other lads, he was rather an odd chap, and frequently went off on solitary strolls. His friends were used to this, and did not mind.