"Yes, I guess that's about it," admitted Tubby, talking only because the next batch of provender was not quite ready for disposal. "Anyhow, I've seen my mother just dote on a horrible little cucumber that dad brought home in January, paying about twenty cents for the same, and, when we have bushels of splendid ones in our own garden, why, nobody cares to eat them."
The little feast continued until everybody had cleaned up their mess. Tubby was disconsolate because the supply was so limited and the demand so great.
"How foolish we were not to double our catch," he said several times, "for there wouldn't have been any trouble about doing the same. One thing I've settled in my mind, I want to tell you."
"Well, go on, then, and explain," urged Merritt.
"I'll have one next summer, see if I don't," asserted Tubby.
"What—a feast of frogs' legs?" chuckled the other scout.
"Me? Only one show at the same? Well, when I like a thing, I rave over it. I want it every day. I mean to have a frog hatchery, and a pond where I can raise 'em by the million!"
"Listen to him, will you, Rob?" exclaimed Merritt, pretending to be horrified. "If ever there was a case where eyes were bigger than a stomach, it's right here. Millions of them, Tubby wants now; seven is only a flea-bite to him."
"Oh! shucks! don't make me out a hog!" remonstrated Tubby. "I didn't mean I expected to devour the whole lot. Why, can't you see there's good money in raising frogs? I'm going to get the figures, and find out just what the ratio of increase might reach. And my folks have got a dandy marsh on the old farm back near Huntington that we own. Rob, I thank you for opening my eyes to this grand opportunity. I expect it will be the turning point of my life yet."