"That's all," Westy Martin, of Roy's troop answered. "We spent, let's see, three summers up there. We had the hill all to ourselves. We even did our own cooking."
"And eating," Peewee shouted.
"Oh sure, we never let anyone do that for us," one of the Bridgeboro scouts laughed.
"If you want a thing well done, do it yourself—especially eating," Roy said. "A scout is thorough."
"Do you know Chocolate Drop? He's cook," Peewee piped up. "He makes doughnuts as big as automobile tires."
"Not Cadillac tires," Roy said, "but Ford tires. Peewee knows how to puncture them, all right."
"He'll have a blow-out some day," Connie Bennett observed.
"So you boys used to be up on the hill, eh?" Mr. Barnard inquired, turning the conversation to a more serious vein. "And how is it you're not to bunk up there this year, since you like it so much?"
As if by common consent Roy's troop left it for him to answer, and even Peewee was quiet.
"Oh, I don't know," Roy said; "first come, first served; that's the rule. You fellows got in your application, that's all there was to it. I guess you know Tom Slade, who works in the camp's city office, don't you, Mr. Barnard?"