Be careful not to let any of the hot water scald the pigeon's feet." Working gently, in order not to alarm the spent bird, Dick and Greg soon had the window open, and Greg drew in the all but frozen little flyer.
"Say, we can have pigeon stew, or pie, if anyone knows how to make a pie," cried Hen Dutcher.
"You scoundrel!" breathed Greg fiercely.

"Your stomach makes a brute of you, Hen Dutcher!" "Oh, what's the sense of being silly about nothing but just a bird ?" insisted Hen.
"I'll fight any fellow who proposes eating this poor little wayfarer," announced Greg.
"Whatcher getting mad about ?" snapped Hen.

"Pigeons are made just for eating, and we can----" "Hold this bird, Dan," urged Greg, passing the pigeon to Dalzell and stepping briskly toward Hen, who, alarmed, retreated, protesting: "Huh! What are you getting red headed about?
Can't you stand a joke ?" "I don't like your style of jokes," retorted Greg, stopping the pursuit.
"Don't let me hear any more of 'em." "In fact, Hen," added Tom, "your continued silence would be the finest thing you could do for us." "See here!" called Dan.

"This is one of our own pigeons--right out of dad's cote.

This is the speckled one we call 'Tit-bit.'" "Say, that seems almost like a letter from home, doesn't it ?" asked Dick, his face beaming.