“Or a good mealy potato!”
“Or a beefsteak!”
“Or crackers and cheese!”
“What are we going to do? We’ll have to eat lobster, or starve.”
“I feel,” said Phil, “that I’m growing to be a lobster myself; my skin is turning quite hard.”
“I’m beginning to lose faith in desert islands,” said Arthur.
“Yes,—they’re a failure.”
“But how do we know?” said Bart. “We haven’t explored yet. We don’t know half of what may be on the island.”
“We know pretty well what there is,” said Bruce. “Spruce trees, maple trees, moss, and rocks,—that’s about all.”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t a South Sea island, and so we can’t expect to pull cocoa-nuts from the trees, or have bread-fruit for our breakfasts. There are no mangoes, no bananas, no oranges, no grapes, no nothing, unless we choose to eat bark and fir cones.”