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Fitzhugh, Percy Keese, 1876-1950

"Roy Blakely, Pathfinder"

Old veteran, isn't he? Huh, that's just what we thought.
Blamed funny thing, a camp-fire."
Jib Jab didn't say anything, only just looked straight ahead of him. Harry
just kept smoking and swinging his legs.
"Guess we hit it about right, hey?" he said.
Jib Jab just kept looking straight ahead of him.
"Pretty near," he said. He sounded kind of strange. Even still he didn't
put the money in his pocket, or the water-soaked letter either, but they
just stayed where Harry threw them, on the bathrobe.
"Pretty tough, being broke," Harry said.
"Bet the old gent'll be proud to see you. Under Grant, I suppose?"
"Sherman," Jib Jab said, very quiet.
Then neither of them spoke for about a couple of minutes, only Harry asked
him for a light.
"Ever get mixed up with the boy scouts, Jib?" Harry asked him.
Jib Jab just shook his head.
"Well, listen here," Harry said; "and here's the test of whether you're
really human."
"I guess I'm pretty human," Jib Jab said, very low.
Then Harry said, "We ran into a party of scouts, Jib, who went up to Elm
Center to see if a fellow they saw in a moving picture was you.


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