“I’d give two dollars to know,” snapped Reade, “but I’d take the money from the camp treasury.”

“Queer that the fellow didn’t take the potatoes, too,” mused Dick, turning back to the stove.

“The potatoes weren’t done,” suggested Reade wisely, “and probably our visitor didn’t think it wise to wait until they were.  The hulled corn will serve his purpose very well, though.”

“It was a mean trick to play on us,” quivered Dick.

“Of course it was—–­unless the thief were really very hungry,” answered Tom.

“In that case, I don’t believe I’d blame the fellow so much,” Dick admitted.  “But now, what are we going to have for supper?”

“I’ve an inspiration,” Tom declared, as he thrust a fork into some of the potatoes in the pot.  “These potatoes will be done in two or three minutes more.  Open three tins of the corned beef.”

“Tinned corned beef isn’t so much of an inspiration, as inspirations go,” laughed Dick.

“Open the three tins,” Tom insisted.  “Here are the onions.  I’ll peel a few—–­and do the weeping for the whole camp.”

Tom was busy at once.  Dick, after watching his friend start, caught something of the spirit of quick work.

“Dump the meat into this chopping bowl,” Tom continued, as he hastily dropped peeled onion after onion into the wooden bowl.  “Now, get the potatoes off the fire, and we’ll drain and peel ’em.”

This work was quickly under way.

“Do you see what the poem is to be?” grinned Reade.

“Looks like corned beef hash,” smiled Dick.

“It will taste like it, too,” predicted Reade.  “Come on, now!”

Potatoes were quickly made ready.  Tom began to chop the mixture, while Prescott got out one of the frying pans.

“Get out the lard,” urged Tom.  “Let’s have some of this stuff cooking by the time that the fellows come in.  It will console them a bit.”

“It begins to smell good,” murmured Dick presently, as he stirred the cooking mixture.

Tom busied himself with setting the table.

“All ready, when the fellows come in,” announced Dick, as he removed the coffee pot and began to cut bread.  “Better call ’em.”

Placing his hands over his mouth, megaphone shape, Tom sent several loud halloos echoing through the woods.

Dan was the first one in.  Greg arrived next, Harry third.

“Where can Dave be?” asked Tom, after several more halloos.

“We’ll go and find him, if he doesn’t show up,” suggested Harry.  “But first of all, let’s stow some of this supper inside of us.”

“We’ll wait for Dave before we eat,” Dick retorted quickly.

“Hello, Dave, hello!” roared Reade and Prescott in concert “Supper is ready!  Hurry up.”

“Queer there’s no answer,” said Greg, after a minute’s wait.

“Something must have happened to Dave,” suggested Danny Grin anxiously.