"Don't torture me by playing such ghastly jokes on my appetite," begged Chunky.
"You must be crazy. This is a trout that I caught this morning from the lake, with a rig I made. There are two apiece. If two of these fat fellows don't satisfy your appetite I don't know what will."
"Yeow!" howled Chunky.
"Stop your nonsense. Go get two nice hard-wood sticks about two feet long, and a half inch thick. Peel them and give them to me."
"What are you going to do?"
"Oh, don't ask so many questions, unless you don't care about breakfast."
"Don't care about breakfast?" fairly shrieked the fat boy. "I'd sell my shirt for a full meal right now."
"I will let you off cheaper than that," laughed Butler. "Dump some coffee into the coffee pot. You know how much to put in. What about those sticks?"
Stacy having brought the sticks, Tad sharpened them; then, spitting a trout on each, held the fish over the glowing bed of coals that he had massed for the purpose. The red and blue of the trout began slowly turning to a rich brown, and a savory odor, almost maddening to the hungry Stacy Brown, filled the air.
"You will have to get along without salt this morning. I'm going to make some as soon as I can get to it," promised Tad.