The slackers crowded round and listened in astonishment, most of them commending and praising the boy in the most generous terms. But, as they sat smoking round the fire after supper, Sweet Jackson suddenly began to laugh, sarcastically remarking:
"He says we mustn't waste a ounce o' meat, but soon's he gets a chance he shoots a bear, and there's nobody to eat it. Very fine to talk! I've seen preachers that didn't live up to ther preachin' before to-day."
Buck Hardy turned upon the scoffer with a look of disgust and scorn, but Ted was the first to speak.
"You've got me there, Mr. Jackson," he frankly confessed. "I've been sorry ever since I did it. I was so excited I didn't take time to think."
"How could he help it—with the blood of a man in him?" demanded Buck.
"I won't do it again," Ted solemnly declared.
"You won't get a chance," said Jackson, his tone still sneering. "That was a chance in a thousand."
Ted then spoke of the meatless and wheatless days urgently recommended in the President's proclamation of January 18, in order that we might spare and ship the food sorely needed by our fighting allies in Europe. His listeners looked their astonishment as the boy outlined the Food Administration's program: no wheat on Mondays and Wednesdays and at one meal on the other days of the week; no meat of any kind on Tuesday, no fresh pork or bacon on Saturday; and rigid economy in the use of sugar at all times.
"For goodness' sake," cried Bud Jones, "does he want us to starve so them people in Europe can have plenty?"