down the deck, swearing he was Satan and that his ship was called 'Hades.' He wasn't any chocolate sundae pirate, he wasn't. He was a genu-wine blood-and-thunder guy, he was.
At this violent explosion from the mild-eyed, velvet-cheeked Legs, the other two scouts broke into a roar.
"Oh, Legs, naughty boy, ain't you ashamed of yourself?" mocked Jimmy.
"Got it all wrong, too," added Cat. "The saphead didn't see the note that said it wasn't the same Blackbeard who scouted in these parts. Why don't you take a squint down in the cellar when you are reading? Then you find what they say upstairs ain't so."
"Ah, get out! Hanged if I saw it," declared the muddled Legs. "Don't believe it was there, either. Anyhow, I don't see why they want to stick in junk like that to spoil a dandy good story."
"Hello, Central!" called Cat into his fist, raised to his mouth to represent a telephone. "Give me Legs's top story. How's the weather up there, Legs? Foggy as usual? I thought so."
"Don't cry, Legs," laughed Jimmy. "You'll
