happened. As when Harry, suddenly poising in front of Chub, exclaimed:
“Fowl! One, two, three—”
“What?” exclaimed Chub, with a jump.
“Four, five, six—”
“Er—er—”
“Seven, eight, nine—”
“Bullfrog!”
“You’re ‘it’!” cried Harry. “A bullfrog isn’t a fowl.”
Chub strove to temporize.
“Did you say fowl? Are you sure?”
“Go ahead, Chub, she caught you,” said Roy “Be game!”
“That isn’t fair,” grumbled Chub. “Of course a bullfrog isn’t exactly a fowl, but everybody knows that frog legs taste just exactly like chicken, and so—”
“Get up, get up, you lazy duffer!” cried Dick.
Chub got up and fixed Dick with a malevolent scowl. Then he walked over to him and remarked conversationally:
“Fish! One, two, three, four, seven, ten!”
“Here! You didn’t count right!” objected Dick.
