“As soon as you have given me time to relate a chapter of my life,” Sam Weller continued, “you’ll understand why the savages won’t be back here to-night.”
“Go on!” Jimmie grunted. “Tell us the story of your life, beginning with the poor but dishonest parents and the statement that you were never understood when you were a baby!”
“This chapter of my life,” Sam went on, without seeming to notice the interruption, “begins shortly after sunset of the evening just passed.”
“Go ahead!” Carl exclaimed. “Get a move on!”
“While walking leisurely from the Isthmus of Panama to Cape Horn,” Sam began, “I saw your two flying machines drop down into this valley. At that time,” he continued, “I was in need of sustenance. I am happy to state, however,” he added with a significant look in the direction of half a dozen empty tin cans, “that at the present moment I feel no such need. For the present I am well supplied.”
“Holy Mackerel!” exclaimed Carl. “But you’ve got your nerve.”
“My nerve is my fortune!” replied Sam whimsically. “But, to continue my narrative,” he went on. “It seemed to me a dispensation of providence in my favor when you boys landed in the valley. In my mind’s eye, I saw plenty to eat and unexceptionable companionship. You were so thoroughly interested in landing that I thought it advisable to wait for a more receptive mood in which to present my petition for—for—well, not to put too fine a point upon it, as Micawber would say—for grub.”
“Say!” laughed Carl. “It’s a sure thing you’ve panhandled in every state in the union.”
Sam smiled grimly but continued without comment.
“So I hid myself back there in the tall grass and waited for you to get supper. Don’t you see,” he went on, “that when a boy’s hungry he doesn’t radiate that sympathy for the unfortunate which naturally comes with a full stomach. Therefore, I waited for you boys to eat your supper before I asked for mine.”