The burner was too hot. While Penny had her back turned and was opening a can of beans, the steaks began to scorch. Mr. Parker tried to rescue them. In his haste he seized the hot skillet handle and burned his hands.
“Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry!” Penny sympathized. “I guess the steaks are practically ruined too.”
“Anything else to eat?” the publisher asked, nursing his blistered hand.
“Beans.”
“Beans!” Mr. Parker repeated with bitter emphasis. “Oh, well—dish them up.”
Penny was serving the food on tin plates when a car drove up and stopped. A ranger climbed out and walked over to the tent.
“What’s the idea, camping here?” he demanded. “Can’t you read signs?”
“We didn’t see any sign,” said Penny.
The ranger pointed to one in plain sight tacked on the trunk of a tree. It read:
“Restricted Area. No Camping Permitted.”