Curtain falls.
Before any one had time to say, “Now guess the word,” Jack Townsend, known by the campers as “the Electric Light,” on account of his red head, exclaimed, “It’s Fire Water, isn’t it? That’s the Indian name for whiskey. I guessed it by the waterfall in the second syllable.”
“No wonder you did; there was water enough in that syllable to put out all the fire in the first one!” exclaimed Preston, springing for his bicycle, to fly home and change his wet clothes.
CHAPTER VIII.
PUDDING AND PIES.
“There’s that dreadful little Pancake ringing again. She comes every morning, Preston, and you must stop it,” said cousin Lucy, waving away half a dozen flies from the sugar-bowl, with as much vehemence as she could throw into her napkin.
“Troublesome flies,” said Preston, without heeding his cousin’s request. “They say a barn-swallow will eat a thousand a day; wish we had a barn-swallow.”
Lucy went to the door a trifle crossly, bread-knife hard in hand, as if she meant to charge it at the foe.