CHAPTER XV.
WHAT'S SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE.
Kingdon invited the woebegone Quibb to breakfast the next morning. The constable had passed a painful night, being scorched rather seriously on neck and arms.
"I wouldn't have that surly old boy around for a minute," Red Phillips growled, as he helped Rex prepare the morning meal.
"Don't be so ha'sh, Larry," Kingdon advised. "'Soft words butter no parsnips,' but they help a lot, just the same. Don't you see, too, that it's the part of wisdom for us to make a friend of this tin-badger. We should be as wise as serpents but harmless as doves."
"Huh! Don't see it! If you'd just be reasonable and let us all go over there to that other camp and wade into that bunch."
"Would that prove anything?" chuckled Kingdon. "Even to a country constable?"
"Well!"
"Your idea of proving the case smacks of ancient times, my child. It might have worked well five or six hundred years ago," his blond friend said lightly. "'Trial by force of arms,' or something like that. But it isn't done now, Larry; it really isn't done—not in the best circles."
"Great snakes!" rejoined the red-haired youth. "You're the coolest fellow, Rex, to let that Horrors take your name——"