"Say, Tony!" he exclaimed, "let's see the bag you got that flour from."
Tony complied and brought forth from one of his receptacles a large paper bag which was two thirds full.
Frank seized it and turned it around to see what was stamped on the other side. Then he almost dropped the bag in a wild fit of hilarity.
"No wonder Tony couldn't make his dough!" he exclaimed, when he could speak. "Some chump in the supply department has handed him out a bag of foot powder when he asked for flour."
He showed the others the marking on the bag, and their merriment equaled his own, while Tony alternately glowered and grinned. He had begun to think that somebody had cast on him the "evil eye," so dreaded by his countrymen, and he was relieved to find that his plight was due to natural causes. Yet the thought of all that wasted effort stirred him to resentment.
"That's one on you, Tony, old boy!" chuckled Billy, with a poke in the ribs.
"It's lucky the dough wouldn't stick," laughed Frank. "There wouldn't have been much nourishment in that kind of bread."
"Dat guy a bonehead," asserted Tony, as he scraped his board with vigor.
"A vera beeg bonehead."
The boys assented and passed on laughing.
"And now for grub!" exclaimed Billy. "Oh, boy, maybe it won't taste good!"