“How many did you catch, Anthony?” asked Katherine.
“None,” replied Anthony, “but I’d have caught 144 more than any of them if I’d had a good rod,” and he swished Uncle Teddy’s best rod around disdainfully.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Katherine.
Beside the fried fish there was tomato soup for supper. It was Mrs. Evans’ prize recipe and one of the favorite camp dishes. Nobody could make tomato soup which quite equalled hers, in the opinion of the family on Ellen’s Isle. It didn’t make any difference where she made it, up in the kitchen tent on the gasoline stove or down on the beach, as now, over an open fire.
“Nothing ever tasted so good,” sighed Sahwah rapturously, dipping her spoon diligently into the big tin cup in which her soup was served.
“I like more pepper in mine,” said Anthony, adding a touch from the pepper pot, which stood on the ground beside him.
The rest made no comments. They were too busy.
“Slim,” said Sahwah suspiciously, when her cup was empty, “just how much soup have you eaten?”
“Four cupfuls,” replied Slim.
“Mercy!” cried Aunt Clara. “That’s more than a quart. It’s a wonder you didn’t burst! I never saw a boy with such a capacity!”