“Yes, or frijoles and chile con carne in New Mexico,” suggested Herb.
“Cease, cease!” groaned Jimmy. “Why talk about such things when we’re such a long way from them? Every time you mention something new it makes me feel hungrier.”
“Hungrier!” exclaimed Mr. Brandon. “Why, it’s hardly half an hour since we finished breakfast!”
“What has breakfast got to do with it?” demanded the insatiable Jimmy. “That’s past and done with. It’s time to think of lunch, now.”
“You win,” laughed Brandon. “Your capacity will make you famous some day.”
“It’s made him famous already—at least, up here,” Bob informed the radio inspector. “Didn’t you know that he is the undisputed champion pie eater of the camp?”
“No, I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise me in the least to hear it,” said Brandon, with a smile. “How did he gain his laurels?”
Then Bob told him about the contest, and when he had finished Mr. Brandon laughingly congratulated Jimmy.
“I always had a sneaking idea that you could do it,” he admitted. “But after my experience with lumbermen’s appetites, I realize that you must have been on your mettle all the way.”
“It was rather hard at the end,” admitted Jimmy, “but take it all together it was a real pleasure. That cook sure does know how to make good pies,” and an expression of blissful reminiscence spread over his round countenance.