"In a huff," admitted Philip and dismissed the dangerous topic with a
philosophic shrug.

"I won't have you trailing after me on a hay-wagon!" exclaimed Diane in
honest indignation.

"Hum! Just how," begged Philip, "does one go about effecting a
national ordinance to keep hay-carts off the highway?"

As Philip betokened an immediate desire to name over certain rights
with which he was vested as a citizen of the United States, Diane was
more than willing to change the subject. Persistence was the keynote
of Mr. Poynter's existence.

"Johnny," begged Philip, "get Miss Diane some chicken implements, will
you, old man? And lend me some salt. You see," he added easily to
Diane, "Ras and I are personally responsible for an individual and very
concentrated grub equipment. It saves a deal of fussing. I carry mine
in my pocket and Ras carries his in his hat, but he wears a roomier
tile than I do and never climbs out of it even when he sleeps. Thank
you, Johnny. I'll send Ras over with your supper. But if it seems to
be getting late, look him up. He may fall asleep."

After repeated indignant refusals which Mr. Poynter characteristically
splintered, Diane, intensely curious, went with Mr. Poynter to the
hay-camp for supper.

Now although the somnolent Ras had been shuffling drowsily about a
fresh fire with no apparent aim, he presently contrived to produce a
roasted chicken, fresh cucumbers, some caviare and rolls, coffee and
cheese and a small freezer of ice cream, all of which he appeared to
take at intervals from under the seat of the hay-cart.

"Ice cream and caviare!" exclaimed the girl aghast. "That's treason."

"I've my own notions of camping," admitted Philip, "and really our way
is exceedingly simple and comfortable. Ras loads up the seat pantry at
the nearest village and then we cast off all unnecessary ballast every
morning. Of course we couldn't very well camp twice in the same
place--we decorate so heavily--but that's a negligible factor. Oh,
yes," added Philip smiling, "we've blazed our trail with buns and
cheese for miles back. Ras thinks whole processions of birds and dogs
and tramps and chickens are already following us. If it's true, we'll
most likely eat some of 'em."

"Where," demanded Diane hopelessly, "did you get this ridiculous
outfit?"

"Well," explained Philip comfortably, "Ras was drowsing by Sherrill's
on a load of hay and I bought the cart and the hay and the horses and