P. S. The man down the creek says he's going to town pretty soon and if we want to ride in with him we can. I wonder what made him think of it.
P. S. A wasp stung me on the lip yesterday. He lit on an ear of corn just as I went to bite. It don't hurt at all, leastways I'd be ashamed if I made as much fuss about it as Jack did when one bit him. Besides a wasp bite on the lip's lots worser than one on the neck—that's what the man down the creek says.
Camp Roosevelt.
Dear Daddy: Yesterday we sure had a great time playing "Pirates" without any shirts on—for Billy says pirates always dress that way—just their trousers on, "naked to the waist," he says.
I was the pirate chief, and Billy was my crew. Jack he was the captain of the vessel and stood on the log to defend the gangway of his ship.
We had cutlasses made out of lath and when we told Jack to surrender he called us cowardly pirates and dared us to step on board his ship.
Then we went for him and was having a great old time when Jack's foot slipped and he fell off the log into the creek. He got mad at me and Billy, 'cause we laughed at him when he bumped his head on the log as he went down.
I wisht we could camp out here forever.
Dick.
P. S. What's good for a burnt finger where you burnt it trying to pick the coffee pot off the fire to keep it from boiling over?