"Oh, boy," I said to myself; "I'll fix that bunch."
So I went out into the office and I said, "I suppose all you crazy Indians claim to be good sports. Maybe some of you know how to be good losers. Suppose we draw lots and see who goes up and down Main Street as a sandwich man. I'll make five slips of paper and the one who draws the one with number three on it will have to go out. What do you say?"
First nobody was willing, because each fellow said that if he went out, all the other fellows would laugh at him.
"You should worry," I said; "I'll fix it so nobody laughs at anybody else—positively guaranteed."
"How can you be sure?" Pee-wee wanted to know.
"You leave it to me," I told him; "nobody will have anything on anybody else. Absolutely, positively guaranteed. If not satisfied bring your sandwich in and get it exchanged for a hunk of pie."
So then I tore five slips of paper and I put a three on every one of them. I knew how to handle that bunch.
"I'll draw first," Pee-wee shouted.
Good night, you should have seen that kid when he drew number three! All the fellows began kidding him and saying he was unlucky. Then came Connie, and he drew three, and then Wig and, oh, boy, I just can't tell you about it. Each fellow stood there staring at his little slip and I drew the last one.
"There you are," I said; "we're all stung and everybody's got the laugh on everybody else. So what's the use of laughing at all? That's logic."