“Scat, scatter, an’ fade away; likewise, depart,” he said. “Drift, skip and begone. What d’ye think, Duke, of a lot of youngsters like them bein’ so fur away from their own little firesides?”
“I think,” remarked the other, “that briled ham and potatoes, as a staple article of food, can’t be beat. Some gingerbread, Count; and if you don’t mind, I’ll top off with some crackers and cheese.”
“So be it, Duke. If you see anything you don’t want, ask for it. My good breeding won’t rub off—wilderness an’ parlor life, it’s all the same. Sardines? Certainly, Duke; but them mostly comes at the beginning of repasts. Tote away there, you on shore; it ain’t perlite ter stare at people eatin’.”
“You needn’t think you’re so funny!” cried Jack Lyons, indignantly. “I’ll have the constable after you quicker than a wink, if you don’t skip.”
“The dearest friend I have; he’s cost me many a dollar. Don’t hurry yerself, Duke.”
“I say, my man,” said Fred Winter, in a soft voice, determined to show his chums the beneficial effects of diplomacy, “come now, get out quietly, like good fellows. We don’t want any trouble, and won’t make any fuss about all that grub you—you—swiped.”
“Listen to birdie chirping. Methinks that butter in summer ain’t no softer than him, eh, Duke?”
“A dub,” said tramp number one, squinting at Fred Winter. “His phiz shows it.”
“Needs a good beatin’ ter put some spunk in him,” added number two.
Both howled with laughter, while Fred, much disgusted and red in the face, forgot, in the wave of indignation that swept through him, all about diplomacy.