“I should think so, my boy. I’m a Frenchman, and in every Frenchman there is a cook.”
Five minutes afterward Paganel began to grill large slices of venison on the embers made by the use of the LLARETTAS, and in about ten minutes a dish was ready, which he served up to his companions by the tempting name of guanaco cutlets. No one stood on ceremony, but fell to with a hearty good will.
To the absolute stupefaction of the geographer, however, the first mouthful was greeted with a general grimace, and such exclamations as—“Tough!” “It is horrible.” “It is not eatable.”
The poor SAVANT was obliged to own that his cutlets could not be relished, even by hungry men. They began to banter him about his “Olympian dish,” and indulge in jokes at his expense; but all he cared about was to find out how it happened that the flesh of the guanaco, which was certainly good and eatable food, had turned out so badly in his hands. At last light broke in on him, and he called out:
“I see through it now! Yes, I see through it. I have found out the secret now.”
“The meat was too long kept, was it?” asked McNabbs, quietly.
“No, but the meat had walked too much. How could I have forgotten that?”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom Austin.
“I mean this: the guanaco is only good for eating when it is killed in a state of rest. If it has been long hunted, and gone over much ground before it is captured, it is no longer eatable. I can affirm the fact by the mere taste, that this animal has come a great distance, and consequently the whole herd has.”
“You are certain of this?” asked Glenarvan.