THE ARMORED CAR.
"Honest, Rob, I never knew what I was missing when I said toasted frogs' legs would do for Frenchmen, but none for Merritt Crawford," and, while making this abject confession, the speaker allowed a look of sublime content to possess his features, such as would remove any lingering doubt concerning his sincerity.
"How about you, Tubby?" asked the master of ceremonies.
Tubby had been savagely tearing at his first helping. His eyes were glued on the various sticks under his charge, at the ends of which the rear portions of as many frogs were dangling, and turning a delicious brown under the influence of the heat.
Then Tubby was seen to heave a sigh.
"To think that there are only six more apiece!" he said in a most solemn tone. But the others laughed softly, because they knew any loud merriment, under such peculiar conditions, was hardly safe.
"That settles one thing," remarked Rob. "There's going to be a marked reduction in the profits of this particular frog-raiser this season, if Tubby has to stay here long."
Tubby was already commencing on his second batch. He could not waste time in talking when his appetite had been excited to a feverish pitch by the first bite of tender and succulent meat.
"Only thing I kick about," he presently mumbled, throwing away the slender bones which he had picked clean, "is that they go so quick. Why, you hardly get started before you're at the end."
"That's the way with nearly all good things," Merritt informed him. "Just as soon as they become so numerous that you can have all you want, somehow it seems as if the craving leaves you."