Blank looks showed on every face.
“We’re goin’ to throw bombs o’ paper bags full o’ flour at a big target on the man-o’-war—”
“Who?” came in chorus. “From the aeroplane?”
“Ever’ one of us! Coyotes an’ Wolves! We’re goin’ to draw lots. Ever’ kid gets a ride on the aeroplane an’ three trials.”
While every Coyote stood open-mouthed—lost in the wild wave of joy that so suddenly engulfed him—Mr. Trevor stepped forward.
“And when it’s too dark to throw any more bombs, the Cloverdale Farm invites every scout here to a last contest of the day—a test to see if each of you can eat a whole smothered chicken and a quart of ice cream.”
“Boys,” exclaimed Hank Milleson when he finally regained some composure, “there ain’t but one thing to it: Three cheers for the Boy Scouts of the Air!”
These had not yet died away when Carrots Compton added: