“What d’you say we tell riddles?” suggested Pee-wee.
“All right,” said Roy, who was poking the fire. “Riddle number one, How much is twice?”
“Do you stir your coffee with your left hand?” shouted Pee-wee.
“No, with a spoon,” said Roy; “no sooner said than stung!”
“Tell a story, Roy,” some one called, and half dozen others, who had already fallen under Roy’s spell, chimed in, “Sure, go ahead—story, story!”
“Well,” said Roy, drawing his knees up and clasping his hands about them. “Once there was a scout—anybody got a harmonica for some soft music? No? Well, once there was a scout and he was tracking. He came to a stone wall and in climbing over it he fell.”
“Scouts don’t fall,” shouted the irrepressible Pee-wee.
“Who’s telling this?” said Roy. “As he was climbing over the stone wall he fell. He fell on his face—and hurt his feelings. He was self-conscious—I mean sub-conscious—I mean unconscious. He shouted for help.”
“When he was unconscious?” ventured Raymond.
“Sure. But no help came. The sun was slowly sinking. The scout was a fiend on first-aid. He opened his case and got out a bottle of camphor. He smelled it. He opened his eyes slowly and came to——”