"You're raking out my potatoes," cried Ritter.
"It won't kill you to put them back," said Tim. He tossed the stick away and turned toward Bobbie.
"Your fire's all right now, Bobbie," Don said distinctly.
Tim turned up his nose and faced in Wally Woods's direction. But Wally's fire, small and compact, gave him no excuse to tinker. He advanced to where Andy Ford was preparing to fry his meat.
"Gee!" he said. "That sure is one sick-looking fire."
"Suits me," said Andy. He laid the meat in the pan.
Tim began to prod the fire with his foot. The flame, which had been low and even, began to flare and smoke. Andy dropped his frying-pan and sprang forward.
"Get away from there," he cried. His rush caught Tim and pushed him back. Then the red-haired boy braced, and there was a scuffle. Andy's fire was scattered.
"What's the meaning of this?" came Mr. Wall's voice.
Instantly the boys separated. Andy hung his head as though ashamed. Tim carried an injured air.