Advice is most uninteresting to youth and when Mrs. Remington began to advise the reckless sailors, Fred quickly changed the subject.
“Well, Dud—what did you and Paul do at the farm to-day?”
Both boys plunged into the story of the broncho busting each one giving high-coloured account of the other’s inexperience in riding a colt. Then as they arrived at the relation of the quieter sports of feeding the livestock and catching chickens, they looked at each other and finally doubled up in laughter.
“What’s the joke—tell us, too!” wondered Billy.
“How did you like the broilers to-night?” asked Paul.
“Why, they tasted good as usual—why?” wondered Fred.
“Because, we’ve heard that the flavour of a chicken has to do with the way it is killed. How do you like your chickens killed—heads chopped off or necks wrung?” asked Paul.
“All the same to me as long as I get it,” replied Billy.
“Well, how do you s’pose they’d taste if they were suffocated to death?” persisted Dudley, and both Paul and he laughed again.
“You didn’t do that, did you?” cried Edith, horrified.