"It sure is all to the pancake batter," observed Bricktop. "Well, I don't mind if I do have a little more of the white meat, if you insist," he added, though no one had asked him to pass his plate. Dick laughed as he helped his chum to some choice bits. Matters were moving more slowly, now that the first edge of hunger was dulled, and the boys were taking occasional stops to make remarks. "What's the program for this afternoon?" asked Walter, as he drained his coffee cup. "Are we going fishing?" "Whatever you say," replied Dick, who, like a true host, always consulted the wishes of his guests. "We can fish, take a walk, or go out in the motor boat." "The motor boat for mine," said Bill. "I want to get on a pile of cushions and take a snooze." "Well, wouldn't that give you the nightmare!" came from Bricktop. "You're getting lazier every day, Bill." "Help yourself," spoke the sleepy youth, as he slumped from the table and stretched out under a tree. "I guess a trip in the motor boat would suit us all best," observed Dick. "Hannibal 'Rastus, just fill up the gasolene tank, will you?" "Oh, why wasn't I born rich instead of handsome," murmured Bricktop, who never would have taken a prize in a beauty show. "But my fatal gift of----" "Cut it out!" cried Walter, throwing a pine cone with such good aim, that it went right into Bricktop's open mouth. "Oh! Ah! Ug! Blug! Chug! Hum!" spluttered the discomfitted one. "Who threw that?" he demanded, when he could speak. Nobody answered, and, feeling in no mood to get up and chastise Walter, whose sly grin proclaimed him the culprit, Bricktop stretched out again. "Hark! That sounds like a wagon coming," observed Fred, as he sat up, after a few minutes of silence. "Guess it's the ice man," said Dick, for he had arranged to have a supply left at the camp. He believed in having all the comforts possible when he went into the woods. "Doesn't rumble like an ice wagon," commented Bill. "Sounds more like a load of steel girders," added Walter. At this, Dick arose. He peered through the trees toward a seldom-used wagon road, which ran near the camp. He caught sight of something moving. "It's a wagon, all right," he said, "but it isn't the ice man." A few moments later a remarkable rig hove into sight. It consisted of a rattle-trap of a wagon, loaded with all sorts of scrap iron, and drawn by a horse that looked as if it had escaped from the bone yard. It just crawled along. On the seat was a bright-faced youth, who was doing his best to excite the animal into a speed a little better than that of a snail. He jerked on the reins, called at the horse, and cracked his whip, but all to no purpose. "It's no use!" he exclaimed, as he looked through the trees and caught sight of Dick and his chums. "He's got the pip, or something like that." "Why, hello, Henry," called Dick. "What brings you away off here? There's no scrap around here."