Every one now looked expectantly at Tim, and he knew he was obliged to make some reply. He gazed at Tip, and Tip gazed at him; but no inspiration came from that source, and he stood up in a desperate way, feeling that as a rule he had rather go hungry than pay such a price for a supper.
“Fellers,” he said, loudly, believing, if the thing must be done, the more noise the better, “I want to thank you all for what you did for Tip when you pulled him out of the water, an’ for what you’ve done for me. The chowder was splendid—”
Here he was interrupted by loud and continued applause for his delicate compliment to their skill as cooks, and it was some moments before he could continue:
“Tip an’ me have had a nice time eatin’ it, an’ we’re a good deal more glad to be here than you are to have us.”
He could think of nothing more to say, and was about to sit down when Bobby asked: “What about killin’ the bears?”
“I’d most forgotten about them,” he said, as he straightened himself up and looked down at Tip with pride. “If you’ve got any bears round here that wants to be killed, Tip will fix ’em for you; but if you want to save the skins to nail up on the barn, you must rush in an’ catch Tip before he chews ’em all up. Why, I saw Tip catch a woodchuck once, an’ before you could say ‘scat’ he’d chewed him awfully. So you’ll have to be kinder careful of your bears when Tip once gets his eye on ’em.”
That was the end of Tim’s speech, for the applause was so great that for the next five minutes it would have been useless for any one to try to make himself heard.
It was very near nine o’clock by the time the formal welcome to Tim was concluded, and after the cabin had been cleaned Bill Thompson said, as he wiped the dish-water from his hands, smoothed down his hair, and made himself presentable for an appearance at home:
“I guess we’d better go now, an’ to-morrer mornin’ we’ll go round back of Bobby Tucker’s father’s woodshed an’ fix up about the bear-hunt.”