"Harris is lucky," said Sam Winslow. "His folks send him a box every now and then, and he gets it through old Carter, at the village."
"I have hard enough time smuggling it in," said Harris, "and I share when I get it here."
"For which we may well call ourselves lucky dogs," smiled Harvey Dare. "A fellow gets awfully weary of the regular rations they have here."
"That's right," agreed Frank. "I often long for the flesh pots of Egypt, or almost anything in the way of a change of fare."
"Well, here's where you get it—if you'll agree not to spring any more ghost yarns on us," said Harris. "Just look over this collection of palate ticklers, fellows."
"Fruit cake!" gasped Sam, delightedly. "Oh, how my stomach yearns for it!"
"Cream pie!" ejaculated Wat Snell. "Yum! yum! Somebody please hold me!"
"Tarts!" panted Harvey Dare. "Oh, I won't do a thing to them!"
"Look at the cookies and assorted good stuff!" murmured Bart, ecstatically. "I shall be ready to perish without a tremor after this!"
"Permit me to do the honors," said Harris, grandly. "Just nominate your poison, and I will deal it out."