Fitz was quite excited over the possibility of their coming upon the thieves and had even decided how he would spend his portion of the reward, when the ravishing odor of frying bacon, combined with the equally alluring fragrance of the coffee, drove all other thoughts out of their heads; and presently they settled down to supper with appetites which only a long tramp through the woods in the crisp, bracing air of mid-November can give, and for a time conversation languished, while everything eatable in sight was disposed of with remarkable rapidity and thoroughness.
“There!” sighed Fitzgerald, with a searching look at the empty dishes. “No more worlds to conquer.”
“Thunder, little one!” exploded the Texan. “You sure aren’t looking for anything more to eat! You’ve stowed away twice as much as any man here. Where do you put it all?”
“Where do you suppose?” demanded the slim chap. “I’ve got a good healthy appetite, that’s all. I notice you haven’t been exactly backward yourself.”
Dick sprang up and began gathering the dishes together.
“You fellows go ahead and start the fire in the next room while Mac and I wash up,” he said. “There’s a lot of big logs out in the woodshed.”
Brad, Fitz and Baxter promptly departed thither, while McCormick filled the dish pan with water from the kettle and Merriwell dumped his armful of dishes into it. Percy Joblots hovered about as if he did not know exactly what to do.
“Ithn’t there thomething I can do?” he asked presently, in a helpless sort of manner. “I never wathed dithes, but I might try.”
Dick’s lips twitched, but he managed to keep a straight face.
“Two’s about enough for that, I think,” he returned. “You might see if you can find some newspapers to start the fire with.”