"The poor little thing should be released from that crate," she told the man. "And I believe he's hungry."
"I reckon you're right, Miss," said the baggage-man. "I gave him part of my coffee this morning; but I reckon that's not very satisfying to a dog."
"He should have some milk," Nan announced decidedly.
"Ya—as?" drawled the baggage-man. He had come into the car with the girls and now looked down at the fretting puppy. "Ya—as," he repeated; "but where are you going to get milk?"
"From the so-called cow-tree," said Bess soberly, "which is found quite commonly in the jungles of Brazil. You score the bark and the wood immediately beneath it with an axe, or machette, insert a sliver of clean wood, and the milky sap trickles forth into your cup—"
"How ridiculous!" interposed Nan, while the baggage-man burst into appreciative laughter.
"Well," said Bess, "when folks are cast away like us, don't they always find the most wonderful things all about them—right to their hands, as it were?"
"Like a cow-tree in a baggage car?" said Nan, with disgust.
"Well! how do you propose to find milk here?" demanded her chum.
"Why," said Nan, with assurance, "I'd look through the express matter and see if there wasn't a case of canned milk going somewhere—"