'Satisfying, anyhow,' said Nares, 'I never felt so full before.'
'Yes, I'm full up,' added someone else, and then silence again ensued for a space. Presently there was a crack and the tinkle of falling brass, and a button flew on to the hearth.
'Bless me,' cried old Dick Wharton, 'if I don't feel as if I was getting fuller every minute.' This seemed to be the general feeling; even Snap shared it.
'Why, what in thunder's the matter?' cried Frank Atkins, leanest and hardest of hard riders. 'This yere belt has gone round me with six holes to spare these two years, and now it won't meet by an inch.'
It certainly was odd. They had sat down like Pharaoh's lean cattle, they had risen like his fat cattle, and they had gone on 'rising' ever since, until now they were all portly as aldermen. Suddenly a light dawned upon Wharton.
'Say, boy, what did you put in that broth?'
'Nothing,' said Snap, 'except salt and onions.'
'Where did you get that salt?'
'Why, out of the tin over your head,' said Snap.
'This 'un, eh?' inquired the old man, holding up a small round tin.