“Left a piece of poultry!” cried Roy.
“Yes,” answered Chub as he came up, a plate of butter in one hand and a very dirty slip of paper in the other, “helped himself to about half a pound of it, and left this in the tub.” And he fluttered the paper.
“What is it?” asked Harry, as they crowded around him.
“Poetry, verse,” answered Chub, “and the craziest stuff you ever read.”
“Oh, I thought you said poultry,” said Roy. “What does it say?”
“Thanks for your hospitality
Which I accept, as you can see.
When I possess what you have not
Pray help yourself to what I’ve got.
“W. N.”
“Well, what do you think of that?” gasped Roy when Chub had finished reading. “Of all the cheeky beggars!”
“Let’s see it,” said Dick. He took the paper and looked it over carefully. It appeared to be the half of a page from a pocket note-book. It was traversed by pale blue lines and the lower corners were curled as though from much handling. The writing was small and the letters well formed.
“Do you reckon it’s a joke?” asked Chub.