“Oh, come off, little one!” Buckhart put in. “It’s clear you’re not wise to the real joys of camping out when you talk like that. Who cares for such little things as black flies and sand when you’re lying on a bed of balsam boughs, wrapped up in a good blanket, with your feet to the fire and three or four good chums around to talk to or not, as you like? Nothing but the stars above your head, no walls to keep you from breathing all of God’s clean air you can get into your lungs. I tell you, tender one, that’s the best sort of a life to live. You hear me gently warble!” “Sounds good,” Fitz retorted airily; “but how about the times when there aren’t any stars above your head and when God’s clean rain washes you off that nice balsam bed and gives you a bath when you’d a heap sight rather stay dirty. Not for this child! I have a foolish preference for a roof over me and some kind of a mattress, even if it’s only corn husks, to sleep on.” Buckhart was about to make an emphatic rejoinder when he caught Dick’s laughing eyes. “You’re wasting your breath, old fellow,” the latter said quickly. “Fitz is awfully fond of hearing himself talk, but don’t ever ask him to go camping if you don’t expect to be taken up.” “Slander,” retorted the slim chap; “vile slander!” He dived into the basket of provisions and brought forth a bottle wrapped in a newspaper. “Pickles!” he exclaimed, holding it up. “Joy of my heart! How blessed of you, Richard, to remember my fondness——” He stopped abruptly as his quick eye caught something on the printed page which was around the bottle. For a moment there was silence. Then his eyes widened alarmingly and his whole face took on an expression of mock horror as he fixed an accusing glare on the placid countenance of Archie McCormick. “Oh, gay deceiver!” he exclaimed severely. “Oh, sly fox! Oh, foolish mortal to think you could keep a secret from the sharp eyes of Desperate Desmond, the Demon Detective of—er—Duluth.” McCormick grinned. “Discovered!” he moaned. “And I thought I had covered me tracks so well! Out with it, Dessy. Keep me no longer in suspenders.” Fitzgerald rolled his eyes ceilingward. “All day long have I felt a presentiment of approaching evil,” he groaned. “This morning a perfectly black cat winked at me——” “The saucy thing!” interrupted Baxter. “I hope it wasn’t a lady cat.” “Winked at me,” continued Fitz, frowning at him; “and that is always a bad omen. But I never thought of this. Even when you announced your trip to Hartford two days ago upon a most flimsy pretext, I did not suspect, but now I know.” He paused and glared again at McCormick who was grinning from ear to ear. By this time the others were rather curious; Percy Joblots, in particular, sat gaping in astonishment, apparently not knowing quite how to take the erratic Fitzgerald. “Spit it out, why don’t you?” demanded Buckhart. “You’ll throw a fit if you don’t.” Fitz swallowed hard and rolled his eyes again.