“But you don’t know how,” exclaimed Billie. “You haven’t been trained in the business as we have.”
“Just you wait and watch,” returned Percy. “Charlie, you build the fire while we prepare the victuals.”
“What an unappetizing word,” ejaculated Elinor, sniffing. “Why not viands?”
“The first course will be viands, then,” said Percy, proceeding to peel the bark from a long, straight althea twig, while Charlie with a knife and tablespoon dug a circular trench to keep the flames from spreading, swept the pine needles into the centre, and built a beautiful fire of pine logs and branches.
Presently it burned down to a bed of very hot cinders, on each side of which he planted two stout sticks with forked ends.
“What on earth are you doing with those long gumbo shooters, Charlie?” called Billie, fidgeting from the inactivity of being served by four slaves.
“Something perfectly ripping,” he answered. “Wait until you taste what’s to come, and see.”
“This will be a course of viands, good strong food, I can tell you,” added Percy, very busy over the luncheon hamper.
“We don’t like the looks of it now,” said Nancy. “Fortunately, there are cakes and sandwiches in the basket for those who can’t quite go strong food, as you call it.”
“Well, this is our contribution to the party beside our services, and I’ll wager a pound of candy apiece that after the cooking process you’ll eat every scrap, even the onions.”