“Yes, suppose you were one of those old ducks in Venice centuries ago who were sent across the Bridge of Sighs and who disappeared in dungeons deep below the level of the water. No light, no fresh air, nothing to see, nothing to do, no one to speak to, and rats running all around your cell. Stale water and mouldy bread to eat, and not very much of that. That was the life!”
“Nuthin’ but bread and water,” Fatty gasped.
“Brought to you once a day,” said Ernest.
“I’d uv died,” said Fatty with conviction.
Ernest looked him over with an appraising eye. “Not right away,” he said encouragingly. “You would have been able to stick it out a good while. But what you want to do, my little friend Fatty, is to keep away from the Cannibal Isles. My, my, how popular you would be!”
Fatty wriggled apprehensively.
The boys sauntered along toward camp, sometimes single file, sometimes in a close group around Ernest. Fatty lagged. His thoughts were unpleasant. He thought of the exchange of lunches that Ernest had suggested. He pictured in his mind’s eye the goodies he had seen his mother pack away in the knapsack given away; divided. Certainly he had never started out for a hard day with so many delicious parcels, all wrapped in paraffine paper. It was unspeakable; unbearable! Fatty lagged far behind as though he could hold back the moment. He knew Frank too well to think that he would forget his diabolical plan. He lagged and lagged, and all at once the whole bunch disappeared around a bend. Fatty had an inspiration.
Hurrying back, panting, listening for a whoop that would tell him that someone had returned to warn him to hurry up and join the crowd, stumbling over the loose rocks that filled the uneven path that led up the mountains, he gained the mouths of the caves. But he pressed on. The path dwindled to a narrow tread, scarcely noticeable. He rounded one turn, and then another. Here the dark cave mouths were less frequent. Fatty looked for a good hiding place in the brush. Just ahead of him he saw a long, narrow slit like a crack in the wall of rock.
A very thin and narrow slit it looked, but Fatty could see that there was an open space beyond, and he painfully squeezed through. Three shirt buttons scraped off, and Fatty barked his plump self here and there, but he made it and getting out his waning electric flash, he turned it around the chamber in which he stood. Someone had been there before him at some time, because two narrow flat boxes stood at one side. They would be nice to sit on.
They could hunt and hunt for him now! He was hungry—starved,—and slipping the knapsack off, he spread its contents on the box and gloated. Sweet chocolate indeed! Fatty smiled. Then he commenced to eat. He went from the left to right deliberately, blissfully. Chicken sandwiches, ham ditto, lettuce and egg and mayonnaise sandwiches. Two cream puffs, sweet pickles, jelly roll, nut cake, a large dill pickle, a thermos bottle of iced cocoa.