I’m used for every roast;
I hear Camp Merrymeeting calling,
‘Toast! Toast! Toast!’”
Curtain. Curtains apart again. A fat marshmallow on the head band, next to one of the pine trees.
“This next ought to be funny,” said Dot, who was in the front row. “‘Deep Sea Fishing, (a) Fish Chorus, (b) Fishermen’s Chorus.’ How can they fix up fish?”
“They don’t have to much,” answered June. “We are supposed to use our imagination. Hilary says that they didn’t use to have all the stage fixings that they think they have to now.”
“Sh-sh, here they are!”
Four girls in Merrymeeting costume sat upon the edge of the big table under the head band. With sticks and lines they were fishing. In front of them, facing the audience, but lying upon the floor in swimming position, were four “fish”, just the girls, in customary garb, without any attempt at a fish costume. To the lively tune of Jingle Bells, and with the movements appropriate to swimming and “flapping” of fins, they sang the following ditty:
“We are the fishes gay,
Swimming every day,