“Well done, my lads, well done,” announced Dr. Byrd as the last load was dropped. “Now what are we going to do next?”
“Eat supper,” replied Allie Atkins, with a slap of his hand on his hungry region.
“Of course; I almost forgot that,” laughed the doctor. “I’m always forgetting my stomach. That’s the reason I haven’t dyspepsia. Always forget your stomachs, boys, until they remind you of their existence and you’ll be all right in that spot. But what are we going to eat? Nothing left, is there?”
“How about the fish?” inquired Walter Hurst, commonly known as “Pickles” because of his fondness for that table delicacy.
“That’s right. This is just the time and place to cook them.”
The suggestion was followed accordingly. The fish—two score of mountain trout—had been caught by the boys in the Rio Grande several miles to the east early in the morning. As they had enough other food for breakfast and dinner, their catch had been saved for the next morning’s meal at the school.
Of course the doctor had not forgotten the fish when he asked the boys what they would eat for supper. But he always appeared to have a poor memory and few ideas when on a trip with his Scouts. He made it a rule to compel the boys to suggest and do every useful thing within their power.
So they prepared the meal on this occasion, as they had done on others. Fireplaces were constructed with stones, frying-pans were placed over them, and the fish were soon sputtering appetizingly. Fortunately, they still had a moderate supply of bread, butter, jam and coffee, so that all appetites were fairly well satisfied.
The pans and coffee pots and cups were washed in the dashing stream, the remains of the meal were cleared away, more fuel was thrown on the camp fire, and all gathered before it for the next number of the unprepared program. For a few minutes the boys chatted on the incidents of their three days’ hike and exploration. Then one of them suggested:
“Let’s tell stories.”