ossession, a paper-covered cookbook presented him only that morning by
his good friend overhead; "'three tablespoonfuls of sugar, one-half
saltspoonful of salt' (only, not havin' a saltspoon, I'll just put in a
pinch), 'one-half teaspoonful of vanilla' (and I wonder what vanilla is,
and maybe I better ask Mrs. Kukor, but if she hasn't got any, can I
leave vanilla out?), 'the yolks of three eggs'--" Here he stopped. "But
I haven't got any eggs!" he sighed. And once more began turning the
pages devoted to desserts.

This sudden interest in new dishes had nothing whatever to do with the
Merit Badge for Cooking. The fact was, he was about to make a pudding;
and the pudding was to be made solely for the purpose of pleasing the
palate of Mr. Tom Barber.

Johnnie had on his scout uniform. And it was remarkable what that
uniform always did for him in the matter of changing his feelings toward
the longshoreman. The big, old, ragged clothes on, the boy might be glad
to see Barber go for the day, and even harbor a little of his former
hate for him; but the scout clothes once donned, their very snugness
seemed to straighten out his thoughts as well as his spine, the former
being uplifted, so to speak, along with Johnnie's chin! Yes, even the
buttons of the khaki coat, each embossed with the design of the scout
badge, helped him to that state of mind which Cis described as "good
turny." Now as he scanned the pages of the cookbook, those two upper
bellows pockets of his beloved coat (his father's medal was in the left
one) heaved up and down proudfully at the mere thought of to-day's good
deed.

He began to chant another recipe: "'One pint of milk, three
tablespoonfuls of sugar, two heapin' tablespoonfuls of cornstarch'----"

Another halt. The cupboard boasted no cornstarch. Nor was there gelatine
in stock, with which to make a gay-colored, wobbly jelly. As for prune
souffle, he could make that easily enough. But--the longshoreman did not
want to lay eyes on another prune souffle before Washington's Birthday,
at least, and the natal anniversary of the Father of His Country was
still a long way off.

Apple fritters, then? But they took apples. And brown betty had the
boldness to demand molasses on top of apples!

He turned more pages.

Then he found his recipe. He knew that the moment his eye caught the
name--"poor man's pudding." He bustled about, washing some rice, then
making the fire. All the while he hummed softly. He was