"That's so," admitted Arnold. "Go to it, then. I'm with you."
"Let me roll over and get on my feet and I'll slap, slap, slap on the floor with my foot," declared Harry. "That'll be easy."
"Why don't you whistle 'Bob White,' at him?" queried the other.
"Because we're not allowed to use the call of another Patrol. If he's a Bob White, he can't in reason howl like a wolf or bark like a dog or slap, slap like a beaver. You understand that."
"Sure I do," admitted Arnold, "but I overlook things sometimes."
Harry now succeeded in rolling over onto his face and from that uncomfortable position rose to his feet. He balanced himself against the wall while he raised one foot and gave three distinct slaps on the floor with the sole of his shoe. Both listened sharply.
"Bob, Bob White," came the answering call through the partition.
"Who's there?" called Harry in a voice trembling with excitement.
"Bob White, St. Louis," came the muffled reply.
"Good gracious," was Harry's startled comment. "Bob White, St. Louis. Then they've got Jack and Tom and Frank cooped up here."