“Benedict Arnold Cowyard,” another shouted.
Then, as a result of several poetical experiments somebody or other evolved this, which caused uproarious laughter:
“I love, I love, I love, I love;
I love so much to rest.
But the thing I love the most of all,
I love another patrol best.”
One or other of the Ravens tried to stem this tide of wit but their angry voices were drowned in the uproar. Even Pee-wee’s scathing tongue and thunderous tone could not stifle the unholy mirth. He was handicapped for he tried to eat and shout at the same time while the others accommodated their eating somewhat to their vociferous commentary.
“I suppose you know he got a peach of a scarf pin for saving that Berry fellow’s life?” Wig shouted at the merry scoffers. It was a forlorn essay at loyalty to poor Wilfred, but it was not cheering even in his own ears.
“I suppose anybody can get rattled,” Artie Van Arlen sneered. It was not for Wilfred’s sake that he attempted this dubious defense; rather was it in pride for his patrol. He felt that if any defense could be made for a recreant Raven, it should at least be attempted—in public.
But these impotent sallies were useless; the Ravens were buried under an avalanche of good-humored but cutting banter. Amid it all, Archie Dennison, proudly ensconced at “officials’ table,” derived a contemptible delight in witnessing the uproar he had created. His scout sense was so far askew that he contrived to see himself as the hero of the occasion.