"You take a heap of interest, for just a boy, in that war 'way off yonder," said Jenkins, his manner not unfriendly.
"Everybody ought to take an interest, for we are in the fight, too, you know," said Ted, forgetting and becoming argumentative. "Why, don't you see, if the Germans whip all Europe and get England's fleet, they'll come right over here and attack us, and wherever they land our people will have to stand all the terrible things the Belgians and the French have had to stand."
"Here you are a-talkin' about that war again!" stormed Sweet Jackson, who had walked up in time to hear a few words.
"Look h-yer, Jackson, I don't see nothin' the matter with this boy," said Jenkins, his tone sharp and his look steady. "Why are you so sot agin him? He jes' asked me if two of them fightin' countries had made peace."
"Oh, well—if that was all," said Jackson more quietly, yielding before unexpected belligerence.
"Thank you, Mr. Jenkins," said Ted politely, and turned away.
"That's a nice, polite kid," said Jenkins to one of the slackers a few moments later. "What's all the row about anyhow?"
"But you ain't heard him exhortin' and shamin' us runaways yet."
"Did he do that? Well, that's a cat of another color. But he sure is a spunky kid."
After supper that night, as the slackers told yarns and joked about the camp fire, Billy, who had been craftily stimulated, seemed unusually wide awake and repeated nursery rhymes and "rigmaroles" by the dozen. Taking Hubert's hand in his, he touched the fingers one after another, repeating, "Little man—ring man—long man—lick pot—thumpkin." Then, tweaking the toes of his own bare feet, he merrily recited: "This little pig wants some corn; this one says, 'Where you goin' to git it?' This one says, 'In master's barn.' This one says he's goin' to tell. This one says, 'Queak!—queak!—can't git over the door-sill!'"