“Here, hold on,” said Frank, looking up when the other had deposited the second assortment of stuff, “d’ye want to swamp us outright? I declare if you haven’t gone and brought out enough for half a dozen already. Look at the steak! How in the dickens are we going to make way with all that, not to speak of cooking it?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you we’re going to have company,” said Andy, wickedly, as he made ready to shoot off again.
“Colonel Josiah Whympers’ coming to join us in our frugal repast?” asked Frank, a look of pleasure on his face.
“Just that. When he heard what we meant to do he got fidgetty at once, and finally threw out such broad hints that I had to ask him to join us. Besides,” added Andy, with a look of what his cousin called “soft sawder,” and which was meant as oil is used to allay friction; “he’s been complaining a good deal lately because he never had a chance to taste your cooking, after me bragging about it so.”
“Ah, get along with you,” laughed Frank, pretending to throw something; “but I say, Andy, while you’re about it just borrow the family frying pan from the cook, because this little one would never do for such a gigantic steak, especially since I see you brought a lot of onions along and want them fried, too.”
“O.K., boss! All shall be done as you order, after being so kind as to not kick over the traces because I’ve invited a guest. But such a guest! They destroyed the pattern after Josiah Whympers was made, I reckon. I’m going to get blankets this turn and that blessed frying pan ditto,” after which he shot off on a run.
Andy did things with a rush, in which he was ever a marvel to his slow friend, Elephant Small, whose failing seemed to be just the other extreme, as he crawled along after the style of a snail.
Frank always carried out everything he attempted well. If he worked at machinery he was conscientious about every trifling bolt and nut. If he played baseball he did it with his whole soul and made as near a success of his work as was possible. And now, when he was elected “chief cook and bottle washer,” as Andy called it, of the supper that was to be prepared, he set about the job just as an experienced cook would have done.
Evening had come. Already the July sun was hovering close to the horizon. The day had been singularly cool for a summer spell, though doubtless it would grow hot again by the morrow.
At any rate it was not a serious task standing over a fire and looking after the various vessels that simmered and bubbled. Then the fine steak was slapped on a pan that had already been well heated, which was Frank’s way of cooking such a delicious morsel. It immediately began throwing off a most appetizing odor that kept Andy groaning and wondering how long he could stand it.