“Because ye’d be made sicker’n I be of my given name, which seeing as mussels was the cause of it, I never could abide the pesky things, I never have et ’em, and never will long’s I kin find anything else to starve on.”
“How could mussels possibly be the cause of your having so qu—I mean so distinguished a name?” asked Phil, with undisguised curiosity.
“Waal, I tell ye what. It’s quite a yarn how the hull thing kim about; but ef you boys will run down to the beach once more for another load of firewood afore it gets plumb dark, and while I tend to the cooking of the fish, I’ll spin it to ye after supper.”
Agreeing to this, the lads, tired and hungry as they were, set forth into the outside darkness and chill, both of which were intensified by the brief period of firelight and warmth they had just enjoyed. The wind was howling with such an increase of fury that it was all they could do to force their way against it, while the fog had given place to dashes of sleety rain.
Glad enough were they when, their mission accomplished, they once more regained the barrabkie, bending beneath great loads of wood, which they flung down with sighs of relief.
How bright and cheery the once despised interior now looked! What a comfort it was to be sheltered from the tempest, and, above all, what deliciously tantalizing odors of cooking pervaded the whole place! The crabs, beautifully baked, had been drawn from the ashes, and with uplifted claws seemed to beckon the famished lads to come and eat them. The great salmon was nearly done, and was being basted with its own drippings caught in a mussel-shell that Jalap Coombs had thrust into the cleft end of a stick.
No second invitation from the big crabs was needed, for hardly had Phil and Serge caught sight of them before they pounced upon them with such ferocity that the mate was obliged to suspend culinary operations for the time being in order to obtain his share of the first course.
“I always thought that crabs were only good when deviled,” remarked Phil at length, as he paused in his eating to look for something on which to crack a big claw. “That’s the way my aunt Ruth cooks them. It’s an awful bother, though, and why people should take all that trouble for nothing I can’t imagine. I’m sure these knock any deviled crabs I ever ate away out of sight.”
Then came the fish, which was rather smoky, to be sure, and was served on a bit of board, without sauce garnishings, condiments, or accessories, but which the guests at this wilderness feast pronounced the very finest and best-cooked salmon they had ever tasted. Jalap Coombs congratulated his young companions on their splendid appetites, before which the great fish rapidly disappeared, until nothing was left but head, tail, and cleanly picked bones, and they complimented him upon his cooking.
“Wouldn’t it make my aunt Ruth open her eyes, though!” said Phil. “She’s a good cook, and she knows it too; but she never cooked a salmon like this—that is, not when I was around. Yes, indeed, Mr. Coombs, you certainly could give her points.”