The first thing we saw was a good-sized tent and the next--oh, _Christopher Columbus_, what a sight! Talk about the West Front! There were girls sitting all around on the ground, simply screaming. Close to the fireplace, that was made out of stones, stood Pee-wee with a great big white apron on that went right down to his feet. "It--it--would have been all right if I hadn't tripped," we heard him say; "that could happen----" "Look at him," I said to the fellows; "only look at him. He looks like the end of a perfect day." All over his hair was yellow stuff, and there was flour on his face and all over his stockings and shoes. There were big black smootches on his face, too. He had a can in one hand and a girls' curling iron in the other and a big greasy frying pan under one arm. We were about a hundred feet off, among the trees, and we just stood there staring and trying not to scream. "This is terrible," Westy said; "what do you suppose happened?" "What's he doing with the curling iron?" Wig whispered. I just leaned against a tree and shook and shook till my head ached. I said, "I don't know what he's doing with the curling iron, but I think--wait a minute till I can speak--oh, oh, oh--I _think_ he tripped over the apron while he was trying to flop an omelet and the omelet came down on his head. Don't speak to me!" "He's suffering from shell shock or something," Connie said. "Not shell shock, _omelet_ shock," I told him; "this is--gh--gh--astly. I wonder what became of the ch--ch--ch--icken!" CHAPTER XVI UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER Then we all marched in, just as if nothing had happened--you know, kind of careless like. Westy said, "Good morning, it's a beautiful afternoon this evening. Is dinner ready?" The girls just couldn't speak, they were laughing so hard. Two of them were trying to pluck the feathers out of a couple of chickens, and by that I knew the worst hadn't happened. But they weren't paying much attention to their work; they were just bending backward and forward and screaming. "L--l--look at him!" Grace Bentley just blurted out; "it's too _excruciating_!" I said, "Pee-wee, don't ever quote the handbook to me again. '_A scout is kind._' You have deliberately murdered that poor omelet. Don't ever say you don't believe in frightfulness." "You make me tired!" he yelled. "Didn't you tell me the way to flip--flop--didn't you say to catch--didn't you say to toss--graceful----" "I said to toss it up gracefully," I told him, "and to let it turn over in the air and then to catch it _inside_ the pan. But tell me this, _please_, so I can die in peace; what are you doing with the curling iron?" "He was going to open--he was going to open--a--a--can," the girl they called Billie said, all the while trying not to laugh; "oh, dear me!" "He wanted us to cut the chicken up to fr--fr--fr--fr--_fry_!" Grace Bentley screamed. "Oh, he's a regular cut-up," Connie told her.