“I didn’t teach you that serve,” said Harry. “I wish I could do it.”
“Well, I’ve tried to show you,” Roy laughed.
“Wish I could play as well as Harry,” remarked Dick disconsolately.
“Oh, you can, Dick, and you know it!” cried Harry.
“Indeed I can’t!”
“Well, there’s only one way to settle it,” said Chub. “You two get up and have it out.”
“Are you too tired?” asked Dick. Harry assured him that she wasn’t a bit tired, and they took their places. Roy and Chub made a very appreciative “gallery,” applauding everything, even mis-strokes. In the end Dick proved his assertion by getting himself beaten seven games to five, and the four, stopping at the Cottage for Harry to get her coat, raced down to the landing and paddled across to camp in the highest of spirits. The camp-fire had gone out in their absence, but Dick soon had it going again. And then the stove was lighted and he set about getting supper, Harry, as usual, volunteering to assist and becoming wildly enthusiastic over the frying of the potatoes, so enthusiastic that she allowed them to burn under her nose. It mustn’t be imagined from this, however, that her culinary efforts always ended in disaster, for there had been several batches of doughnuts—unflavored—which had turned out excellently, and even now the party was finishing a recent baking of vanilla cookies. Doughnuts and cookies, however, were prepared at the Cottage; when it came to camp cookery Harry wasn’t an unqualified success; perhaps there was too much to distract her attention.
Chub declared that he preferred his potatoes well browned and the others said that it didn’t matter a bit. Harry, who had been suddenly plunged into deepest woe by the calamity, recovered her spirits sufficiently to suggest tentatively that perhaps it was better to have them too well done than not done enough. Dick and Roy were about to agree heartily to this sentiment when a shout from [Chub who had been sent to the “larder”] for the butter [interrupted them].
“Somebody’s swiped almost half the butter,” he called, “and left a piece of poetry.”
“Swiped the butter!” exclaimed Dick.