"And my word for it we'll need all we can get," laughed Mr. Garrabrant aside to his assistant, as he nodded his head to where Ginger was working lustily, and smacking his lips as he kept one eye on the busy fisherman, "because Ginger tells me he's awful fond of trout! It's going to keep me hustling to supply all the appetites in this Camp Content of ours; for they're developing most alarmingly."
But really Mr. Garrabrant was joking. He had foreseen just such a condition as this, knowing boys as well as he did, and made sure to add good measure to the quantity of food first planned for.
The fishermen presently brought in what catch they had made. Every one was both surprised and delighted to see the splendid size of the trout that had taken the bait.
"Why, this sure is a great snap!" exclaimed Lil Artha, who had been looking all around for various views which he anticipated capturing on succeeding days. "We can have the toothsome trout whenever the spirit moves, and the fishermen get busy."
"And they pull like a house afire, too," declared Matty Eggleston, who had been one of the anglers. "I've caught black bass lots of times, but this is my first trout experience. Yum, yum, say, don't they just smell fine, though? Look at Ginger walking up and down over by the shore of the lake! He's that near starved he just can't stay around any longer and sniff that delicious odor! Boys, ain't it near time to call us to the fray? Oh, I'm that hollow I'm afraid I'll break in two!"
"Supper's ready, Mr. Garrabrant!" announced Ty Collins, who had been given a free hand as chief cook on this evening, while Elmer paid attention to various other things.
"Call the boys in then, and we'll see if it tastes as good as it smells. Sound the assembly, Mark," called the scout master, himself not at all averse to the pleasant duty of satisfying the inner man's clamorings.
So the bugler sent out the sweet call, and even Ginger seemed to know what it meant, for he came hurrying along to serve the dinner, a broad grin stamped on his ebony face, and his mouth stretched almost from ear to ear.
"This is what I call solid comfort," observed Mark, as he tasted the crisp trout, and decided that it was finer than any fish he had ever eaten in all his life.
A chorus of approving grunts and nods followed his assertion, for as a rule the scouts were too busily occupied just then to say much. Ginger had not been compelled to wait until they were through, under the existing conditions that would have been next door to a crime, because the poor old chap was really frantic for something to stop the awful craving he had. So, after helping the entire bunch he was allowed to dip in and sit in a retired spot, where the tremendous champing noise he made while "feeding" might not annoy the rest.