"
"Ef it comes t' that," exclaimed Chip in a resentful tone, "what's the
matter with you goin' ahead and turnin' the trick. There ain't nobody
here that knows better'n you how to keep the recordin' angel workin'
double shifts."
There was a laugh at this, but when it subsided Sandy had his answer
ready: "It ain't a question o' lyin' with me," he explained. "I've been
in so many scrapes that only a man of extraordinary intelligence and
iron nerve like myself could 'a' pulled out of, that there ain't no call
for me to make up nothin'."
"That stuff sounds all right as long as you're sayin' it," said Chip
skeptically; "but jest to prove it, supposin' you take the bit in your
teeth an' spiel off one o' these here adventures o' yourn."
"Well, mebbe I will," replied Sandy thoughtfully, "mebbe I will." He
paused reflectively a few moments while he filled and lighted his pipe.
The rain still beat steadily against the roof and windows of the
bunkhouse, but the wind now came only in fitful gusts.
Everybody, with the exception of the three boys, was smoking, and a blue
fog drifted and eddied through the atmosphere.
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