"All right!" said Ben cheerfully.
In a short time a fresh supply of trout was drawn from the brook, and they were roughly cooked at the fire, Bradley officiating as cook.
"Now, my friends, set up," said he. "I'm sorry I can't give you any potatoes, but the barrel's out, and it's too late to get any at the store. Likewise, you must excuse the puddin', as it's too late to make any."
The two visitors appeared to think no apologies were needful, for they made short work with the trout. From the manner in which they devoured their supper, it was quite evident that it was some time since they had eaten. Ben and Bradley did not join them, having already eaten heartily.
"I hope you relished your supper, gentlemen," said Bradley politely.
"I should say we did," responded Tom Hadley.
"I say, them trout beat the world."
"I'll shoot the man that says they don't!" said Bill Mosely, relapsing into his old tone.
"So will I!" exclaimed Bradley, springing to his feet and brandishing his revolver.
Ben began to see that he was playing a part, and, with assumed gravity, he looked to see what effect it would have on their new friend.