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Why, in two years Romper 'll be a metropolis." Having finished the preparation of his baggage, the Swede straightened himself. "Mr. Scully," he said, with sudden hardihood, "how much do I owe you?" "You don't owe me anythin'," said the old man, angrily. "Yes, I do," retorted the Swede.
And say, fellows, we'll have to erect our poles at Firemen's Field, do you realize that? We'll be mighty busy for a while hello, look who's inspecting our motorcycles." Bud and Romper looked up in time to see Dick Austin, the boy from Arizona, scrutinizing the three machines that were lined up at the curb. "Howdy," he said as they came up. "I was just eyeing these here critters.
The girls would pose and photograph the baby tirelessly, laughing as he toppled and protested, and kissing the fat legs that showed between his pink romper and his pink socks. They would pack picnic lunches, rushing to and fro breathlessly with thermos bottles and extra wraps for Miggs, as Harry Junior was usually called.
The possibility of a new set of tents or the lumber for a motorboat appeals to me more than blowing the money in on a show; that is, it does when I stop and think soberly about it." "Right-o!" said Romper. "That's what I call common sense," asserted Nipper Knapp. "Just the way we all should look at it," insisted Bud Weir, leader of the Blue Heron patrol. "And if we were to sh! Listen, fellows!
Bruce Clifford and the other members of Quarry Troop No. 1, waited only to determine the location of the column of smoke that now extended clear across the sky, then, selecting the short cut across the field by which they had come, they hurried pellmell toward the scene of trouble. "It's down in the factories!" panted Romper as he ran.
The cowboy poised his pan of pork, while he ruminated upon the news. "Three years. That ain't much." "No. It was a light sentence," replied the Easterner as he unbuckled his spurs. "Seems there was a good deal of sympathy for him in Romper."
All kinds of suggestions were advanced, but none was worth considering until Romper finally stirred up his flag idea. It did not take the wide-awake youngsters long to comprehend the spectacular element in this proposition, however, and presently they were talking away at a furious rate, planning the details. "Look here, why not make the order of events like this," said Bruce.
"You said it, only I wish I could have just one more helping of sausages and maybe a little more potatoes; I think I'd feel entirely satisfied then," said fat Babe Wilson, looking pleadingly at Romper. "Aw give him enough to eat, Romper, he's only had three helpings already," jeered Bud Weir. "Sorry, Babe, but you've cleaned us out. There isn't a potato or a sausage left," said Romper.
But to the citizens of this prairie town and to the people who would naturally stop there, Pat Scully had performed a feat. With this opulence and splendor, these creeds, classes, egotisms, that streamed through Romper on the rails day after day, they had no color in common.
It is true that on clear days, when the great trans-continental expresses, long lines of swaying Pullmans, swept through Fort Romper, passengers were overcome at the sight, and the cult that knows the brown-reds and the subdivisions of the dark greens of the East expressed shame, pity, horror, in a laugh.
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