“I’ve been to lots of them,” said Chub loftily. “I’m a great success at functions of that sort. At home they can’t do without me.”
“Well, they can do without you here, all right,” responded Roy cruelly. “And they’re going to. Harry’s going to have her girls’ party in the afternoon and then she’s coming over here and we’re going to give her another. We will employ that celebrated caterer, Mr. Richard Somes, to prepare the repast.”
“And we’ll invite the Poet!” cried Harry.
“Of course,” said Dick. “We’ll have him write an ‘Ode to Harriet on her Sixteenth Birthday.’”
It was settled so, and Harry regained her good spirits and fed doughnuts to Snip until the boys made her desist, not, as Chub explained, because they had any fears for the dog’s health, but for the reason that it was a shame to waste good doughnuts on an unappreciative nature. Harry declared that Snip had a very appreciative nature, but was at a loss when Chub demanded proof. Snip, finding the harvest at an end, jogged off to investigate things in the woods, and while the dinner things were being cleared up he made day hideous with his incessant barking. Finally Chub went off to investigate.
“I’ll bet he’s treed another bear,” he said. “You dig your revolver out of your bag, Dick, and stand ready to come when I yell.”
But Chub didn’t yell. Instead he was back in a minute with news written all over his face.
“What do you think?” he cried.
“A racoon!” guessed Roy.