"He sm--sm--_ashed_ the potatoes so they--oh, just look at them!" one of the others managed to blurt out. The kettle full of mashed potatoes looked as if a bomb had fallen into it; there were gobs of mashed potatoes all around on the trees and ground for about ten feet. It looked like a snowstorm. "He flavored the onions with mosquito dope--cit--citronella," Pug Peters shrieked. "Sure," Wig said; "a scout is resourceful." "You all make me tired!" Pee-wee yelled; "how can you flip when you trip----" "Walter," I said, very gentle and kind like, "take off your apron and ask for an armistice. It's your only hope; unconditional surrender. Here, give me the frying pan; look at the grease all down your leg, you're a sight." I began gathering up the gobs of omelet from his head and his shoulders, while the girls sat on the ground all around and just laughed and laughed. Honest, I thought Pug Peters would have a fit, she laughed so hard. Grace Bentley nearly had hysterics. "How can you--tell me this----?" Pee-wee yelled; "how can you trip--flip--if you flop--I mean trip--you make me sick. That could happen----" "Sure, it could happen to Edison," I said; "you should worry. Get your apron off and your face washed before some of us die." Poor kid, he was a wreck. We washed him up and brushed and cleaned his suit the best we could and collected all the odds and ends of omelet. Westy wanted to try to fit them together like a picture puzzle. That omelet looked like the map of Europe after the war. But one thing, the chickens were saved. In another ten minutes, I suppose, odds and ends of chicken would have been flying in the air. Pug Peters said she was sorry, because she had been wanting to eat some of that omelet to see how it tasted. She said it had maple syrup in it. _Good night!_ Grace Bentley told us there was peppermint extract in it, too. Anyway, it had an awful death. From all we heard, about the only thing Pee-wee didn't use for flavoring was fountain pen ink. There was a bottle of glue there and I don't know how he happened to miss that. The mashed potatoes were flavored with strawberry, but they weren't so bad. The onions had a funny taste, too; kind of like pineapple. He had made some fried muffins, the same way that I usually did, and Westy and Connie and I had a good game of one o'cat with one of them. Westy knocked a home run and even that didn't break it. As soon as the girls could manage to talk straight, they got busy plucking the chickens and we cut them up and fried them. Pee-wee retired from his strenuous career of cook and just sat by and watched us. He didn't say much. A scout knows when to keep still.