Dick carried over his shoulder a great big corn popper, and Ben a bag.
"Had to do some running around to gather up half a bushel of prime pop corn," reported Ben.
Soon there was the swish-swish! of the hard kernels in the popper. Then—pop-pop-pop! Eager eyes watched the little snow white mountain in the popper grow and try to burst its cage.
"Here you are, fellows!" sang out Ben, emptying several quarts of the popped corn on the spread-out bag he had brought along.
Ben had a can of salt, and each one fixed the corn to his liking. Very soon all hands had eaten their fill and were bubbling over with excitement and fun.
Five mischief-makers, including Bob and Sammy, dubbed themselves a "Committee" to get up a programme. They went aside a little to make their plans. There were some suspicious and mysterious whisperings. Three of the crowd disappeared in the shadows down the beach.
"Now then, fellows," sang out Dave, mounting a rock, as if it was a throne, "attention and order."
"Set the ball rolling," drawled out lazy Tim Barker, who had eaten so much that he lay flat on the sand.
"Speech! speech!" called out Bob.
"Yes, that's good," said Dave. "Let's see—whom shall we select?"
"Why, Clarence Brooks here is the orator of the school, isn't he?" said Sammy, winking.
Clarence was a fussy little fellow whose father was a public lecturer. He was always ready to speak a piece.
"Give us 'The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck,' Clarence," suggested Frank.
"Oh, that's too old," sang out Tim Barker.
