rked with a will
in spite of cut and blistered fingers and pitch blackened hands until it
began to look as if they would have their little lumbering village
finished and ready for occupancy by mid-afternoon.

At half past eleven Romper Ryan, Ray Martin and Buster Benson knocked off
shelter-building, for they had been appointed cooks for the camp. Hastily
they put together a big stone fireplace well away from any leaves and
underbrush, and after they had a good fire going they began preparing the
first meal at the Quarry Scout lumber camp.

The three lads elected to the commissary department were the best cooks
in the troop, and they did themselves proud on that particular occasion,
for when Romper finally sounded his call to quarters on the bottom of the
tin dishpan there were stacks of golden brown country sausages, snowy
white boiled potatoes, savory strips of fried bacon, three big pots of
steaming hot coffee and last, but not least, nearly a hundred chocolate
doughnuts which Jiminy Gordon's mother had contributed just by way of
showing the boys how much she thought of them.

In a jiffy seventeen youngsters were assembled in line, tin plate and cup
in hand. One by one they filed past the three cooks and received their
portions, and shortly after they were all sitting cross legged on the
ground, each devoting his full attention to filling a vacant space just
under his belt. The only sound that could be heard was the scraping of
knives and forks against the tin plates, and now and then a grunt of
satisfaction, for their work in the open had given the lads appetites of
young sharks.

"Um-m-m, Jiminy, that was some feed!" grunted Jiminy Gordon as he put
down his plate and wiped his mouth on his handkerchief.

"You said it, only I wish I could have just one more helping of sausages
and maybe a little more potatoes; I think I'd feel entirely satisfied
then," said fat Babe Wilson, looking pleadingly at Romper.

"Aw give him enough to eat, Romper, he's only had three helpings already,"
jeered Bud Weir.

"Sorry, Babe, but you've cleaned us out. There isn't a potato or a
sausage left," said Romper.

"Gee, that's a fine note. Want to starve him?" said Ray Martin,
sarcastically.

"Hi, don't you talk. You got your share before we did. Pretty soft
being a cook. I'd like to have that job myself," snorted Babe Wilson.

"You leave Ray alone, Babe. He's some cook, he is. So is Romper, too,
only he lets his old fi