"That suits me all right," Phil agreed, "and we all know the kind you can make, Lub. If you want any help, call on me."
"Oh! it's only a pleasure to me, so long as I know my efforts are appreciated," said Lub, just as they all knew he would.
The flapjacks must have been good, for not a piece of one was left after the four boys had finished breakfast. And they even had the audacity to bait Lub on top of it.
"Don't care how soon you repeat that mess, Lub," observed Phil.
"Never tasted their equal," confessed Ethan.
"And as for me," said the wicked X-Ray, "I'll sure dream of the treat to-night, see if I don't."
Whereupon, of course, Lub set about figuring out just how the little sack of self-raising flour would hold out, if he made flapjacks every single morning of their stay in camp.
Lub was a lovable camp mate, and so easily imposed upon. But then his chums were just as ready to do things for him in turn.
Later on in the morning, seeing that the rival fishermen had started out again to depopulate the lake, and Lub was busy cleaning up around the cabin, Phil took a notion to wander off.
He meant to cover quite some little territory this time, his object being to see if he could catch a glimpse of a deer. Of course he carried his camera along, because it was always possible that some good chance might arise where he could use it to advantage.