"No one who has not been camping for a long time can appreciate
smoke," announced Ned oracularly. "If I had to go without my supper I
believe if I could breathe smoke for a few minutes, I could almost
imagine I had a full stomach."
"Well, I couldn't. I've heard of smoke-eaters, whatever or whoever
they are, but I want something a little more lasting," announced
Walter Perkins. "No smoked smoke diet for me."
"Nor for me," agreed Tad.
"What's a smoke eater?" asked Stacy.
"I should say that a Pony Rider Boy named Ned Rector was one,
according to his own admission," laughed Walter.
"Pass the water, please."
Walter filled Stacy's cup. The fat boy drank it down without taking a
breath. No sooner had he swallowed the liquid than he hurled the cup
from him and leaped to his feet coughing and making wry faces.
They could not imagine what had happened.
"Slap him on the back, he's choking," shouted Ned.
Walter Perkins, by this time, was laughing immoderately, while his
companions were jolting Stacy between the shoulders and shaking him
violently.
"Stop pounding me, d'ye hear? Stop it, I tell you," cried Stacy,
wriggling from their grasp, red of face, an expression of great
indignation in his eyes.
"Did you swallow a bone?" queried Ned.
"Bone nothing."
"Then, please tell us the cause of all this unseemly disturbance.
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