CHAPTER VIII 
AROUND THE FIRE 
Tne last remnant of the awe Horace had at first in- 
spired in us vanished with the ‘‘ Episode of the Irate 
Cook.’’ The unexpressed antagonism toward him, 
which had heretofore made his presence a constant 
irritant, disappeared. He was looked upon hence- 
forth as a joke, tolerated on the condition of com- 
plete self-effacement, and squelched promptly and 
openly whenever he appeared in danger of forget- 
ting this tacit arrangement. 
As a result our nightly camp-fire confabs became 
much more enjoyable gatherings. Those intimate 
evenings stand out in memory as perhaps the pleas- 
antest phase of the season’s work. 
Bygone camp-fire talks long past, how clearly, with 
what a warmth of detail, do they recur in recol- 
lection! I can see now, in my mind’s eye, the very 
scene—the camp and the familiar faces and the fire 
burning lower and lower as the minutes pass. 
Supper is finished, and a feeling of indolent peace 
and contentment steals over us with the lighting of 
pipes and the relaxation of tired limbs. Sitting on 
logs or stretched full length on the ground before 
the gleaming embers, we muse and talk; lazily argu- 
ing, spinning yarns, dreaming dreams. The faces 
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