“Breakfast is served, gentlemen.”

Andy Green, whose experiences had been varied, sat up and blinked at the gently swaying flap where the cook had been standing.  “Say, what we got in camp?” he asked curiously.  “A butler?”

“By golly, that’s the way a cook oughta be!” vowed Slim, and reached for his hat.

They dressed hastily and trooped down to the creek for their morning ablutions, and hurried back to the breakfast which waited.  The new cook was smiling and apologetic and anxious to please.  The Happy Family felt almost as if there were a woman in camp and became very polite without in the least realizing that they were not behaving in the usual manner, or dreaming that they were unconsciously trying to live up to their chef.

“The breakfast, it is of a lacking in many things fich I shall endeavor to remedy,” he assured them, pouring coffee as if he were serving royalty.  He was dressed immaculately in white cap and apron, and his mustache was waxed to a degree which made it resemble a cat’s whiskers.  The Happy Family tasted the coffee and glanced eloquently at one another.  It was better than Patsy’s coffee, even; and as for Happy Jack—­

There were biscuits, the like of which they never had tasted before.  The bacon was crisp and delicately brown and delicious, the potatoes cooked in a new and enticing way.  The Happy Family showed its appreciation as seemed to them most convincing:  They left not a scrap of anything and they drank two cups of coffee apiece when that was not their habit.

Later, they hitched the four horses to the mess-wagon, learned that the new cook, though he deeply regretted his inefficiency, did not drive anything.  “The small burro,” he explained, “I ride him, yes, and also the automobile drive I when the way is smooth.  But the horses I make not acquainted with him.  I could ride upon the elevated seat, yes, but to drive the quartet I would not presume.”

“Happy, you’ll have to drive,” said Weary, his tone a command.

“Aw, gwan!” Happy Jack objected, “He rode out here all right last night—­unless somebody took him up in front on the saddle, which I hain’t heard about nobody doing.  A cook’s supposed to do his own driving.  I betche—­”

Weary went close and pointed a finger impressively.  “Happy, you drive,” he said, and Happy Jack turned without a word and climbed glumly up to the seat of the mess-wagon.

“Well, are yuh coming or ain’t yuh?” he inquired of the cook in a tone surcharged with disgust.

“If you will so kindly permit, it give me great pleasure to ride with you and to make better friendship.  It now occurs to me that I have not yet introduce.  Gentlemen, Jacques I have the honor to be name.  I am delighted to meet you and I hope for pleasant association.”  The bow he gave the group was of the old school.