"Pshaw! I think it's hor-rid. So
flashy!" snapped Pemrose; Jack at a
pinch had made gorgeous his incivility and
was parading it before her eyes.

"Oh, boy! Look at that middle fellow.
He'd have a grosbeak 'skun a mile'!"
gasped Stud, following the direction of her
glance, with a virtuous consciousness of
his own cave-soiled khaki, moderately lit
by merit badge and service stripe.

'Grosbeak!' Oh, but I love grosbeaks
! And all that color--why! it paints
the landscape," came flutteringly from
Aponi, the White Birch Butterfly, least
Priscilla-like in her tastes of the Group,
when she was not in Camp Fire green, or
soft-toned ceremonial dress.

"Maybe'twill paint the blues in old
Tory Cave, if we run across them there,"
put in Tomoke, maiden of the flambeau
and the fire-talk. "They certainly are a
perfect 'scream', those big boys," her eyes
merrily following that clamor of color
now wending back towards the canoes.

[[157]]

p156 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p157w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p158

v?