“Helloa, Charley!” said Ben, when he had recovered sufficient breath. “Why didn’t you hit me with an ax?—it wouldn’t have hurt so much.”
The cook roared his delight at the compliment to his strength, and Ben introduced Ed and George. “Remember to always keep on the proper side of the cook, and you’ll come out all right,” laughed the guide.
They watched Charley disappear into a sort of out-shanty, where several other men in aprons seemed to be fussing about with pots and pans. Presently he reappeared and supplied them with cups of tea, “sour-dough bread,” and a plentiful portion of baked beans.
“Pile into it strong,” he urged. “You’ll never get the gout from any fancy dishes of mine.”
The boys did not delay. The trip and the spring air had sharpened their appetites. They instantly became popular with the cook by their devotion to the substantial fare set before them, and from time to time they cast curious glances at the long rows of jolly, brown-faced men with whom they sat.
They had heard and read so much about the “lumber-jacks,” and they wanted to find out what sort of fellows they were. They were compelled to laugh outright at the quaint expressions used by these men in asking for the various things on the table.
“Hey, Joe, chase the cow down here, will you?” And at once Joe understood and passed the milk down the table toward several of his friends, who were calling, “Co boss, co boss.” “Roll along the spuds” meant to pass the potatoes. “Say, Charley, I’m shy a stabber,” was replied to by the gift of a fork. A spoon was alluded to as a “dipper,” and so on through the entire list. Ben laughingly explained each phrase as it was employed, and the boys memorized it with the purpose of trying it on the family at home.
When the meal was finished, they accompanied Ben to the canoe for the string of fish, which he presented to Ned, with the compliments of the young anglers.
“There’s sure one dandy fish in that bunch, and that’s calling it something, ’cause they’re all dandies,” declared the foreman, holding the trout at arm’s length, so that all might admire it.
Then they went into the bunk-house and took places on “the mourners’ bench,” which was what Ben said the lumbermen had christened the seats along the sides of the cabin.