“You’re company,” said Chet, “and are not to do one thing to help us.”
“Except to help us eat,” put in Pete Lowe. “Did you bring the milk, Chet?”
“Nothing doing except in the direction of a tin cow or so. You don’t mind canned milk in your cocoa, do you, girls?”
Nobody minded, and Chet brought the cans from the boat, handing them over to Pete whose office it was to make the cocoa. Milt Seymour was busy at one fire frying fish, Jimmy Carey was stirring pancakes and watching a second fire, Peter squatted before a third over which a gypsy kettle hung. Other boys skurried around, in and out the mess tent, and finally it was announced that the meal was ready, and a good one it was: fried fish, potatoes baked in the ashes, pancakes, cocoa, sliced pineapple and small cakes.
“Who thought of getting this good Hawaiian pineapple?” asked Winnie. “We never once thought of having it, and one can do a lot of things with it. I move we order some from town.”
“Second the motion,” replied Claudia. “Joanne knows a Girl Scout who lives in Hawaii, don’t you, Jo?”
“How interesting,” exclaimed Betty. “Does she write to you, Jo?”
“Yes,” Joanne answered; “I heard from her not long ago. She said the Girl Scouts of Hawaii were asking to have white uniforms instead of the khaki ones, because the white ones are so much cooler.”
“That is true, and I hope they’ll get them. There are days when I feel as if I should expire even in this latitude, and what must it be farther south,” said Winnie.
“Our Southern girls have asked for the white ones, too,” Joanne said. “I read that in a paper not long ago.”