“Hopkins, George Hopkins. He trained those clams to race and used to take them around to the state fairs and things like that. Made quite a lot of money, I believe.”
“I remember now,” said Hal. “He used to put a dish of melted butter down and the clams would see which could get to it first. You wouldn’t think a thing like a clam would have so much—so much intelligence, would you?”
“Pity you aren’t a clam,” scoffed Bee. “You fellows must think I’m pretty easy to believe a yarn like that. Trained clams! Did this fellow Jenkins—”
“Hopkins,” corrected Jack, soberly.
“Did he ever think to have some hurdles and let the clams jump over them?”
“I don’t believe so. I remember, though, that he taught one of them to climb trees. I think that was Hortense. I believe Percy never would learn that trick.”
“Hortense! I suppose those clams came when you called them?”
“Oh, yes; that is, usually. Once, though, Hortense got up into a tree and refused to come down. And when, finally, Hopkins climbed up there for her he found she was making a nest in the branches! I’ve often wondered what became of those clams.”
“Don’t you know?” asked Bee. “I read about it in the paper a couple of years ago. They were walking along the beach one day, hand in hand, when a big wave came up and drowned them. It was indeed a clammy death.”
“I’ll have a clammy death,” laughed Jack, “if I don’t stop eating these. Want some more, Hal? Lots of them here. No? Well, how do you fellows feel about baked beans?”