He looked at the grub he held with ineffable disgust, and then sniffed at it.
“You’ll have to go to the stream with a tooth-brush, and clean your teeth and mouth with sand.”
He sniffed again, and looked at Tim, who just then popped a golden-brown fellow into his mouth.
“Ugh!” ejaculated Rifle, but he took the one the black held out to him on the stick point, smelt it cautiously, looking at Norman the while.
Then both smelt together, looking in each others eyes, Tim feasting away steadily all the time.
“I say,” said Norman; “they don’t smell so very bad.”
“No; not so very,” replied Rifle.
“I say: I will if you will.”
“What, taste this?”
“Yes.”