“Here’s Dave!”
“How are you, old man?”
“How did they treat you at the hospital?”
“Say, but you’re looking fine! It must pay to get wounded.”
“It hasn’t been the same old camp since you went away, Dave. My, but we’re glad to see you back!” And Roger, who had thus spoken, grabbed him by both hands. Then the others surrounded our hero, and while one caught a hand another caught him around the shoulders and another around the waist.
“Hay, let up, you fellows!” cried the young sergeant good-naturedly. “Please don’t pull me apart. Remember I have just come from the hospital.”
“That’s right! Boys, be careful,” admonished Phil. “We don’t want to kill him with kindness.”
“Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” burst out Shadow, who had been the one to encircle Dave’s waist. “A ragged newsboy went to a charity picnic. One of the ladies kept on stuffing him with cake. Finally she said: ‘Oh, Johnny, do have another piece of cake.’ Then Johnny turned a woebegone face on her and replied: ‘Thank yer, Miss. I could chaw it fur yer, but I couldn’t swaller it.’”
“We’ve got no time to listen to stories—only the one that Dave has to tell,” burst out Ben.
“I’m glad to see you in service again, Buster!” exclaimed Dave, as he caught the stout youth by the hand.