"Oh! can't you sneak in now and crib the coffee pot?" begged Owen.
"Give him ten minutes to settle down," came the reply.
At the end of what seemed the longest ten minutes he had ever known, Owen saw his agile cousin begin to move toward the opening of the tent.
On the way Max picked up a long, stout stick that had a slight turn at the end. "He's going to fish for the coffee pot," whispered Owen, in more or less delight; for he did so enjoy seeing Max undertake anything that required brains.
The fishing met with speedy reward, for once the crook at the end of the pole had been inserted into the handle of the coffee pot, and the rest was easy.
So Max came back to where he had left his comrade, bearing in his hands the old cooking utensil that thus far had not been needed, and might, if the other only held out, only prove a form of insurance against possible disaster.
Deliberately Max opened the coffee pot and thrust his hand inside.
"Here's a package," he said, drawing something out.
"No need to open that," observed Owen, quickly; "because we know it only holds the three poor pearls found in the catch brought in by the last squad. Feel deeper, Max. Strike anything?"
For reply the other drew his hand out, nor did it come into view empty.