"Hans is stuck on this brushwood," sang out Fred. "He loves it so he can't bear to leave it."
"This way, Hansy, my boy," came from Tom. "Now then, a long pull, a strong pull and a pull altogether!"
With might and main he hauled on the German boy's arm, and with a tearing sound Hans came loose and almost pitched forward on his face.
"Hi! hi! let go alretty kvick!" he bawled. "Mine clothes vos most tore off of me." He felt of his trousers and the back of his jacket. "Too pad! Da vos full of vinders now!"
"Never mind, Hansy, you need the openings for ventilation," returned
Tom smoothly.
"Vendilations, hey? Vot you know about him, hey? I vos look like a ragpickers alretty!" And he surveyed the damaged suit dubiously.
"Now is the time to have your picture taken," suggested Fred. "You can send it to your best girl, Hans."
"I ton't vos got no girls."
"Then send it to your grandma," suggested Tom blandly. "Maybe she'll take pity on you and send you a new suit. That would suit, wouldn't it?"
"I ton't vos do noddings, but ven ve go to camp again, I make you all sit town und blay tailors," answered the German boy; and then the whole crowd pushed forward as before.