"Yes, there's some ammonia in my kit at the camp. I'll take him back."
"Let me do it, Professor," offered Ned.
"Very good."
Ned hastened to the suffering Chunky and, assisting him up, led the boy back to the camp. Ned found the ammonia, but by this time the fat boy's eyes were swollen almost shut. In applying the ammonia, Rector accidentally held the mouth of the bottle under the patient's nose. Chunky took a deep breath. The fat boy's howls called the others to camp on the run.
"He—he did it on purpose," wailed Stacy as they came running to the scene demanding to know what fresh disaster had befallen Chunky.
"I didn't do it on purpose," protested Ned indignantly. "I was trying to help him. It isn't my fault that he took a smell of the stuff. I was nearly strangled by it myself. That is what I get for trying to be a good fellow. You doctor yourself."
"Let me attend to him," said the Professor, getting down on his knees to examine the swollen face. "You did get stung, didn't you?"
"Strange none of the rest of us was stung," wondered Walter.
"They must have known that Chunky was the easy mark," grinned Ned. "But I am sorry for you, Chunky. I would rather have been stung myself."
"I wish you had been," moaned the fat boy. "It would have served you right."