Excerpt: '"Well, now that everything is going all right at the camp here, I suppose we might as well say goodbye to our friends and get ready for the return to the West Branch and resume our duties on the forest fire patrol," remarked Garfield Boone to his chums as they sat in the crude office of the lumber camp. "Yes, this seems to be the best thing to do, but I almost dislike the thought of going back. After all the excitement that we've had lately, it will be dead slow on the hill. Nothing to do but walk the patrol and take our turns in the Tin Can," agreed Phil Durant. The third member of the trio of friends, tried and true, merely yawned and said nothing. This was Dick Wallace, rather a heavy chap. Some people would have called him fat, but he always referred to himself as merely plump. "Come, say something, Dick. You've been sitting here for an hour and the most you've said is yes or no, sometimes you didn't even say that. What's the trouble?" inquired Garry. "Gosh, can't you fellows see that I'm just resting? You want me to say something? All right. I wonder what we'll have for dinner today?" His friends broke into hearty laughter. Dick's appetite was a standing joke with them, likewise his weight; for he always took the easiest way of doing things when speed was not required. This does not mean that the fat youth was a shirker or naturally lazy. When occasion demanded it, he was all speed and as quick as a flash of lightning. Like many heavy people, he could move with the utmost celerity if need be, but his attitude was why hurry when you didn't have to. Time enough for that when something arose that demanded action.'
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