"That's a fact," Phil had remarked; "our coming on the spot had considerable to do with this lunch we're making right now. Because, only for that, it might be a funeral feast instead of a joy spread, eh, Larry?"
"Well, that's just about right, Phil," the fat youth had replied, turning just a shade paler than usual, although on account of his rosy hue this fact could hardly be noticed, to tell the truth; "but I wasn't thinking of that; and please don't mention it too often, for it's apt to take my appetite away."
"Then tell us what you did mean?" demanded his chum.
"I was thinking first of all how fortunate for us that the delicious odor of our cooking turk didn't ooze out from the oven," Larry went on.
"Oh! now I catch on to what's on your mind," laughed Phil. "You're thinking of our colored friend, Pete Smith, the chap with the seven piccaninnies?"
"That's what I am, Phil. What if he had caught the odor of that noble bird in his half starved condition?"
"Whose—the bird's?" queried Phil, wickedly.
"Oh! no, you know I mean Pete," replied Larry, quite unruffled. "Don't you suppose he'd have followed his nose, and discovered how we'd placed the turkey away so neatly? And he'd have uncovered him, and run away with the whole show. That would have not only cheated us out of our breakfast and lunch; but have also lost us a chance for doing a noble deed."
"Hear! hear! I see you're bringing your Boy Scout training down to Florida with you, Larry. And I wager you never let a sun go down without having done something to make a fellow critter happier. But stop and think, it was only midnight when Pete gave us that call, wasn't it?"
"Somewhere about that time, I guess; but why?" Larry asked.