He lighted a burner and stooped to take a kettle from beneath the sink. Ted stared his astonishment. Al had the huge kettle, the one they used when there were ten or more hunters staying with them. Half-filling it with water, he put it over the burner to heat and took an unopened peck of potatoes from their storage place. Industriously he began to peel them.
Ted said, "Dad—"
"We'll need plenty," Al broke in. "S'pose you get about four more parcels of pork chops out and start 'em cookin?"
"But, Dad—"
"Let's not," Al whirled almost savagely, "waste our time talkin'. Let's just do it."
Sick with fear, Ted did as directed. He and Al froze pork chops six to a package, and three were all a hungry man wanted. Four more packages meant that they would cook thirty pork chops, and what were any four men—even four ravenous men—to do with them? Ted got four more packages out and began breaking them apart. He stole a sidewise glance at his father. Had this sudden, terrible accusation unseated Al's reason? Ted put the still frozen pork chops into two of their biggest skillets and began thawing them over burners. Loring Blade came into the kitchen.
"Can I help?"
Al said, "Reckon not, Lorin'."
"My gosh! You're making enough for an army!"
"Might's well have plenty. Ted, give me another sack of biscuit mix."