There was no reply for a moment. Then Alf answered dryly: “I think so, Gerald. Yes, I think we have all the wood we can burn—without a match!”
Dan looked about him, his gaze traveling over the landscape. Tom grinned.
“Looking for a match factory, Dan?” he asked pleasantly.
Alf, sitting on his feet, looked ruefully at his neatly arranged pile of grass and splinters and wood. Gerald came up cheerfully with an armful of broken branches.
“There,” he said, “that’s surely enough. There’s a big old log down there, though, if we need it. It was too heavy for me to carry. What—what’s the matter?” He stared wonderingly from one to another of the silent trio.
“Nothing to speak of,” answered Dan. “Only we haven’t any matches.”
“It’s a mere detail, of course,” murmured Tom carelessly.
“Oh!” said Gerald blankly.
“Thank you,” said Alf. “It’s a remark I’ve been trying to think of for some time. It—it does full justice to the situation.”
“Let’s look again,” suggested Dan, probing his pockets. Everyone followed suit, but, although a great variety of articles were discovered, no one found a match.