“FIRE!”
“Saturday, eleven-thirty P.M., the night before Christmas, and all’s well!”
It was Frank Savage who made this remark, as with eight other scouts he trudged along, after having left the house of the scout-master, Paul Morrison. Frank had been the lucky one to be counted among those who were going on the midwinter tour, his parents having been coaxed into giving their consent.
“And on Monday morning we make the start, wind and weather permitting,” observed Bobolink, with an eagerness he did not attempt to conceal.
“So far as we know everything is in complete readiness,” said Bluff Shipley.
“Five iceboats are tugging at their halters, anxious to be off,” laughed Jack. “And there’ll be a lot of restless sleepers in certain Stanhope homes I happen to know.”
“Huh! there always are just before Christmas,” chuckled Tom Betts. “But this year we have a 63 double reason for lying awake and counting the dragging minutes. Course you committee of two looked after the grub supplies as you were directed?”
“We certainly did!” affirmed Bobolink, “and came near getting into a row with old Briggs at his store. He wanted to ask us top-notch prices for everything, and when we kicked he acted so ugly we packed out.”
“Just like the old curmudgeon,” declared Phil Towns. “The last time I was in his place he kept following me around as if he thought I meant to steal him out of house and home. I just up and told my folks I never wanted to trade with Mr. Briggs again, and so they changed to the other store.”
“Oh, well, he’s getting old and peevish,” said Jack. “You see he lives a lonely life, and has a narrow vision. Besides, some boys have given him a lot of trouble, and he doesn’t know the difference between decent fellows and scamps. We’d better let him alone, and talk of something else.”