S. S. seemed troubled. "I don't think we ought to do that," he objected. "Horace Hibbs isn't here, and somebody might get hurt."
Sheffield stared in amazement. "We would shoot at a target, of course," he explained.
S. S. continued stubborn. "There are too many of us. Somebody might get shot."
"Tell you what we will do, then: you and I will slip over there and get him to give us a couple of shots."
S. S. was more embarrassed than ever. "No, I don't think we ought to do that, either, Roy. No, we certainly ought not to do that." He turned toward the picnic crowd. "Let's get back to the bunch. Maybe they are starting something. Yes, let's go back."
"All right!" snorted Sheffield contemptuously. "But it's too bad Horace Hibbs won't be here when we eat."
"Why?" S. S. asked innocently.
"If he isn't here, how will you know whether you may eat two kinds of sandwiches and cake, and how hot you may drink your coffee?"
And Royal Sheffield walked away, leaving S. S. without an answer.
How Marion Genevieve Chester Proved (to Her Own Satisfaction) How Much the Scouts Cared for Her