“I don’t want any more, do you, Tom?” asked Dan.
“No, I don’t think so,” was the cheerful response. Alf looked around suspiciously.
“Here! You’ve eaten my piece, you cheats!”
“I didn’t see any name on the piece I had,” Tom assured him.
“Neither did I,” said Dan. “Are you sure it was marked, Alf?”
“You go to the dickens!” grumbled Alf, as he retired from the fire very red of face and moist of eye. “I’ll give you half of this, Gerald.”
“No, I’ll toast some,” replied Gerald. He took up the stick, produced his knife and sharpened the other end as well. Then he put a piece of bread on one end and stuck the other in the ground at such a slant that the bread was over the hot coals. Then he resumed his seat on the rug.
“What do you think of that!” marveled Tom. “Isn’t he the brainy little Solomon? I suppose your boxing lessons taught you how to do that, Gerald.”
“Oh, you dry up,” said Alf. “And don’t eat quite all the cold meat, if you please. Where’s the chow-chow got to?”