“I’ll say we don’t,” Will said. “I’ll take the black eye—black’s better than yellow.”
“You said it,” I told him.
When we got to camp, there wasn’t anybody around. We counted the coats and they were all in. Up on Powwow Hill the camp-fire was still going. I guess that old Scout from out west was talking everybody deaf, dumb and blind. We could see dark forms sitting all around. Even Cooking Shack was closed up, so I guess even Chocolate Drop was up there.
I said to Will, “They’re still breadcrusting bedtime stories. I’d like to have a hunk of pie, I know that.”
All of a sudden, there was Dub. I guess he was waiting for us. He just kind of appeared.
I said, “You’re all right, Dub, only you’re not going to get away with it. Whatever you said, we’re going into the office and tell the whole thing, just how it was. We happen to be a couple of solid silver-plated foxes and we congratulate you because you’re an honor hero. I dare you to sneak up to camp-fire and get the key of Cooking Shack from Chocolate Drop. We want to get some pie.”
Dub said, “Listen, you fellows, we’re in luck. Nobody has to go home to-morrow. Even Pee-wee Harris couldn’t have fixed it any better. Nobody saw me come in. The whole blooming outfit is up there listening to yarns—scoutmasters, councilors, everybody.”
“Hurrah for Arizona,” I said.
“You could steal the pavilion and nobody’d know it,” Dub said.
“Let’s steal Cooking Shack,” I especially most hungrily suggested.