stout sticks into
the gym the other day, and William amused himself fastening a lot
of cloth around them, so that they look like the stuffed club we
used in the ministrel [minstrel] show last Winter. William is just
itching to use one on some poor wretch. Perhaps he might get the
chance to-night. So-long, Jack."

"I'm afraid so," returned his comrade, slowly; "and just as like as
not they expect to give us trouble while we're in camp. Well," and
his voice took on a vein of determination that told how he was
aroused at the thought of what might happen; ["]there must be a
limit to even the forbearance of a scout, you know; and if they
push us too far, we will have to teach them a lesson!"

"Where's Bobolink?" demanded the leader,[.]

According [Accordingly] he now took a little piece of wood out of
his pocket, also a steel nail, and with the latter tapped several
times upon the bit of veneering. Immediately they saw the sitting
boy begin to fumble, as thought [though] he might be getting
something out of his pocket. Then came an answering series of
staccato taps, soft yet clear.

"I'm your candy!'["] came the reply, as the figure stood up at
attention.

Chapter VII

"What's the matter in there? Why don't you open up?["] called Ted,
again rapping his knuckles on the wooden barrier.

Bud Jones was in the most terrible predicament of his whole life.
Beset by innumerable fierce foes as he believed within, there was
that big bully outside, only waiting for a chance to give him a
thrashing he would never forget. And the mysterious voice that
sounded exactly like his own, startled him; for, not being a friend
of Bobolink's he probably never heard him give those strange
imitations when making his voice appear to come from some other
preson [person].

Chapter XI

Paul pushed to the front just them [then].

Chapter XIII

"Two ought to be enough. Yes, bring a glim along; we may need it,
for that moon isn't very bright to-night, and the trees make
considearble [considerable] shadow."

Chapter XV

"He's gone, Ted!" whooped a voice; but it was not that of Monkey
Egleston [Eggleston]; for that worthy was hardly in possession of
enough breath to more than whisper.

Chapter XVII

"Sure I would, P