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Mort seemed embarrassed, so I decided to not make too big of a deal about it. “I want you to get rid of them,” I told him. “You can send them down with your father or something, but you get them out of our campsite, and I don’t want to hear another word about them.” Mort promised he would, and I felt I had handled the situation with great finesse. Mort’s father had helped bring the boys and the gear up to camp, and was heading back home so he could go to work. It was natural that Mort would just send the fireworks back with him. Later, as we set up camp and settled in, Mort assured me they were taken care of. I herded the older boys off to their different merit badges, and led the younger boys to theirs. I made my way back to camp and started putting together the work rotation schedule. It wasn’t long before the day was ending, and we were making dinner. That was something I helped direct the boys on, but refused to do for them. As usual, it ended up being some kind of burnt offering that would normally have been less than palatable. But, in our famished state from working hard all day, we slicked it up. I did have some Dutch oven cobbler and some scones with honey 37