“The next time we try a desert island, boys, I move that we make tracks for the Pacific Ocean,” said Arthur.
“I second that motion,” cried Phil.
“It’s rather odd,” said Bart, “that all of us should get tired of lobster at the same time.”
“It would be odder yet,” said Tom, “if any of us had been able to stand it any longer.”
“That’s about the thing,” said Bruce. “And so the question remains yet,” said Arthur, “What are we going to do?”
No one answered. They all sat looking at the fire. Phil seized some brush and flung it on; the flames caught it, and crackled through it, and dashed up fiercely and brightly, lighting up five very hungry, very tired, and very discontented faces.
“Hurrah!” cried Bart at last, starting to his feet. “Hurrah! I have it!”
“What’s that?”
“Gulls’ eggs!” said Bart.
“Not bad,” said Bruce. “At any rate we can try it. Perhaps we may find some young gulls. They eat young rooks in England; why shouldn’t young gulls be good?”