beans and throw them away, did you?" asked Shadow, innocently.
"Sold that time!" cried Dave, good-naturedly. "Never mind; we'll let Shadow pay for the lunch we're going to have. Come on."
"Not on your tintype," murmured the storyteller. "Not unless you pass around the hat and make me treasurer."
They found a convenient restaurant and, pushing together two of the tables, sat down in a merry group. The proprietor knew some of them, and nodded pleasantly as he took their orders. Soon they were eating as only happy and healthy schoolboys can eat.
"My, but this mince-pie is good!" declared Roger. "I could eat about a yard of it!"
"A yard of pie is good," said Dave, with a smile.
"Talking about a yard of pie puts me in mind of a story," came from Shadow, who was stowing away the last of a hot roast-beef sandwich.
"Hold on, we've had enough!" cried Sam.
"If you pile on another like that last one, we'll roll you out in the snow," was Phil's comment.
"This is a real story, really it is, and it's a good one, too."
"Vintage of 1864, or before Columbus landed?" inquired Ben.
"I've never told this before. Some Yale students went into a butcher shop and one of 'em,
