“Well, if she wots that that’s a joke,” muttered Dick, “she’s certainly a pretty good wotter.”
“Who’s got a stamp?” asked Chub as he finished scrawling the address on the envelop. “Thanks. What a very nasty tasting one! I wonder why the government doesn’t flavor its stamps better. It might turn them out in different flavors, you know; peppermint, vanilla, wintergreen, chocolate—”
“Almond,” suggested Roy.
“And then when you went to the post-office you could say: ‘I’d like ten twos, please; peppermint, if you have it.’”
“You’re an awful idiot,” laughed Dick. “Give me the letter and I’ll post it on the way to the hotel. Now, let’s talk about what we’ll have to buy. Let’s figure up and see what it’ll cost us.”
“Go ahead,” said Chub readily. “I’ve got a pencil.”
“First of all, then, we’ll need a lot of provisions.”
“Unless we can persuade Chub to stay behind,” suggested Roy.
“Who thought of this scheme?” asked Chub indignantly. “I guess if any one stays behind it won’t be Chub. And likewise and moreover if Chub doesn’t have enough to eat he will mutiny.”
“Then you’ll have to put yourself in irons,” said Dick, “if you’re in command.”