“Getting the bear steaks was good luck. I’m going to broil ’em, and we’ll——”
“Well, you are the limit, Chunky!” exclaimed Jerry. “You can’t see any bad luck in anything, as long as there are eats connected with it; eh, Ned?”
“That’s right. Well, I am glad that I shot the bear. He was a big fellow, and if the skin had been in prime condition I think I’d have tried to make a bargain with the Indians for it. But it’s too late now.”
“Don’t have any more to do with the beggars than you have to,” advised Jim Nestor. “Everything may come out all right yet. Can I help you boys any?”
“Yes, you can,” said Jerry, in a low voice. “But not by working on the rudder—we can attend to that. If you keep an eye on Professor Snodgrass, though, you’ll be doing well. I think he’ll wander off too far looking for specimens, in spite of what Harvey said. Just sort of watch over him; will you? He’ll get so interested chasing after a one-legged bumble bee that he won’t realize how far from camp he’s going.”
“That’s right—I will,” agreed Mr. Nestor, and he strolled along the path taken by the scientist, who, intent on capturing a new kind of butterfly, paid no attention to anything else.
Bob had disappeared into the galley, where he could be heard whistling and singing by turns as he prepared the meal.
“Chunky is in his element now,” observed Jerry, with a laugh.
“He sure is,” came from Ned. “What can I do, Jerry?”
“Well, you might be making the braces for the new rudder; I have it nearly finished, but I’m going to rig the controls a little differently. I want to make them stronger, so that in case of a hard blow, straining on them won’t break ’em, as it did a little while ago. If we work fast we may be able to leave to-morrow.”