“I’ll punch your head!” exclaimed Fred.
“No, go on and play,” said Jack. “It will liven things up a bit.”
So Fred got out his mouth-organ, and rendered a lively march, the boys parading around the table, each one clapping on the back the new member of the informal club.
“Now I guess we can eat,” announced Jack. “Bill, pass that plate of sandwiches at your elbow. Fred, juggle the doughnuts down this way. Sam, don’t let those pies go to sleep. Bob, you open some of the ginger-ale, but don’t let it pop too loud, or Doc. Mead may think it’s the safety valve of the boiler going off, and send Martin to investigate.”
The lads were soon actively engaged in putting away the good things, and then, for a time, conversation languished, save for intermittent remarks.
“Are you having a good time, boys?” asked Socker, poking his head in the storeroom, after having shoveled some coal on the fire.
“We sure are, and we’re much obliged to you,” replied Jack.
“Oh, that’s all right. It reminds me, to see you all eating, of how I once was nearly starved in Andersonville prison. I was in there——”
“I’m coming out to hear that story in about five minutes, Socker,” interrupted Jack. “Have it all ready for me.”