Breakfast was on the long table, along the two sides of which about forty men were doing their best to make way with the huge piles of hot cakes and bacon and eggs, to say nothing of doughnuts and coffee.
“You ver’ near mees der grub, oui,” shouted big Jean Larue, as Bob took his seat beside Jack.
“Guess there’s plenty left,” he laughed, as he glanced about the table.
“Oui, dar’s allays pleenty der grub here,” declared another Kanuck, a huge six footer, named Pierre, from his seat near the foot of the table.
Pierre’s statement was correct, for Mr. Golden believed in giving his men good food and plenty of it, and there was never any fault found with the bill of fare in any of his camps.
“We geet the first raft heetched up tomorrow,” Jean said, as he helped himself to another pile of cakes.
“Sure we will, eef you not eat so mooch you no can stir,” Pierre shouted, and a roar of laughter filled the vast room in which Jean joined. His appetite was a standing joke with the men, and he really seemed to take pride in it.
“Dat all right,” he said, as the laughter subsided. “After breakfast I, Jean Larue, put you on your back ver’ queek. You tink I eat too mooch, hey?”
“You mean you try. What you call eet? You spell able once,” Pierre grinned, as another roar of laughter greeted his words.
“Better get a wiggle,” Jack advised his brother, as he helped himself to two more doughnuts. “I wouldn’t miss seeing that match for a farm.”