The skin of the chirimoya is thick and tough, and their jack-knives were called into use, but once within the shell a treat indeed was found. Internally the fruit is snowy white and juicy, and embedded within the pulp are many seeds, but these are as easily removed as are the seeds of a watermelon.
“My, this is delicious!” said Harvey, smacking his lips.
“Picking chirimoyas from trees is better sport than picking up puma cubs from beneath them, is it not?” asked Hope-Jones.
“Somewhat,” said the lad, as he buried his face in the fruit and took so large a mouthful that his cheeks were distended.
“Be careful lest you choke,” warned Hope-Jones; then turning to Ferguson he asked:—
“How would you describe the flavor should you wish to do so to a person at home?”
“I couldn’t. It is finer than the pineapple, more luscious than the best strawberry, and richer than the peach. There is no fruit with which I could make comparison. Can you think of any?”
“No.”
They enjoyed the repast with which nature had provided them, then Ferguson urged that they take up their march again.
“What’s the matter with remaining here?” Harvey asked.