r made. For the present the meat and some
other perishable articles of food rested on the ground outdoors, under
an overturned box on which three large stones had been placed as
weights.

"It's six o'clock," called Dick at last. "Are we going to eat on time?"

"I'm all ready with the potatoes," Dan called back.

Dick once more busied himself with making weak coffee. Tom and Harry set
the dishes on the table with a cheery clatter. Then six fearfully hungry
boys sat down to table.

"There's no jam on the table," grunted Harry.

"Oh, wait until we get outside of the solid stuff before we bother with
sweets," begged Darrin.

It was nearly seven when the glorious meal was over. As nothing but
potatoes and coffee had depended on a cook, nothing went wrong with the
meal.

"Now, we can clean up and wash the dishes," proposed Dick Prescott.

"What's that?" demanded Tom Reade belligerently. "Work? Right on top of
a supper like that?"

"I guess we do all feel more like taking a nap," laughed Dick. "Well,
we'll rest for half an hour and see if we feel more like effort then.
What do you say if we all pull our chairs up to the fire?"

"How close to the fire?" asked Dan, screening his eyes with his fingers
as he glanced at the blazing logs.

"Oh, not too close for comfort, of course," agreed Dick. "But come on.
We can swap stories."

"Will they be anything like the spanking story that good Old Dut told
you last September, Dick?" teased Dave.

"Not right away, I guess," smiled Dick. "I don't believe any fellow,
after that big supper, feels as if he had energy enough to tell a
spanking story. But what kind of stories shall we tell?"

"I'll wait for some one else to start it," yawned Tom, as he took his
seat in the semi-circle at a respectful distance from the blaze.

"Who else is going to be a quitter or a loafer?" inquired Dave
scornfully.

There was a pause. No one appeared to have a story that he wanted to try
out on such a critical audience.

At last Dick remarked thoughtfully:

"As the man on the clubhouse steps said----"

Then he paused, as if he had forgotten the matter.

"Well," insisted Greg presently, "what did the man on the clubhouse
steps say?"

"Eh?" inquired Dick, gazing at him with mock blankness.

"What did the man on the clubhouse steps say?" repeated Greg.

"Oh--er--that is--it's really a secret," Dick replied provokingly.

"Now, see here, none of that!" growled Tom.

"Eh?" demanded Da