"What you havin', this cruise, Bill?" asked Dick, when the greetings were over.
"Th' worst cruise I ever has," Bill replied, as he drew off his adicky. "One white fox--nothin' else, an' no footin' now t' speak of. Shad an' me never see a hair or feather barrin' th' fox I catches, an' he were a poor un."
"I gets one marten an' a red, up an' back," said Dick. "Ed gets nothin', an' Bob gets one marten. 'Tis a wonderful bad showin'."
"Aye, a wonderful bad showin', gettin' never a hair, an' that's what I gets," declared Ed, in disgust. "If th' next cruise don't show a wonderful lot better, I starts for th' Bay th' mornin' after Christmas, an' I'll not be comin' back till th' middle o' February, whatever."
The dough bread, fried pork, and tea, which Ed and Bob had been preparing, were ready, and, the meal disposed of, pipes were lighted and the discussion of the all-important question was resumed.
"'Tisn't th' havin' a poor cruise now an' again's what's botherin' me," began Ed, "but they ain't no footin'; and where they ain't no footin', they ain't nothin'; an' where they ain't nothin', they ain't no use huntin' it."
"They ain't even a pa'tridge t' be killed for th' pot," complained Bill.
"No, an' we'll be seein' th' end of our grub, with nothin' t' help out, by th' end o' February, whatever," Ed dolefully prophesied.
"Isn't there danger of scurvy if we have nothing but salt pork to eat?" asked Shad.
"That they is, sure as shootin'," agreed Ed.