“Oh, so far as that goes,” explained Jack, “there’s lots of that made and sold over here. They call it sweet butter, and most people like it. You’d get used to it in time.”
“Four dozen eggs, and whoppers at that,” Buster went on to say, gloatingly; “which I consider a splendid investment; and we didn’t have to pay half what they’d cost us in the States either. I’m going to have a couple fried for my supper, and anybody else that likes them that way can get what they want by giving the tip now.”
They continued to chatter in this manner as the afternoon wore away. It had been decided that while there was a full moon that night they had better not attempt navigating the river after the sun had set. None of them knew what they might run up against; and besides, since war had come, possibly there would be strict rules enforced prohibiting such a thing during the night. None of them felt like taking chances.
Buster, it seems, must have been thinking of some of his previous exploits in the times that were gone, for later on he was seen to be looking over some fishing tackle he produced from his pack.
“Hey! what’s in the wind now, Buster?” sang out Josh upon discovering what the fat chum was doing.
“Oh, nothing much,” replied the other easily, “only it struck me that there might be some kind of eatable fish in this same blue Danube, and I’m looking over my lines. To-night, if I can find any fat grubs or worms, I might set a line and see what happens. You know I’ve had more or less success about grabbing big fish out of fresh and salt water.”
That seemed to make the others laugh, as though certain humorous memories were refreshed. Buster joined them, for he was a jolly fellow and could even enjoy a joke when it was on himself.
“I mean to drop one of these lines over as we go along, so as to soak the snell of the hook, for if it’s too dry it might break,” Buster explained.
“Well, here’s wishing that you meet with good luck,” said Josh, “because I’d enjoy a supper of fresh fish pretty good.”
“Don’t make up your mouth for it, then,” warned George, “because you never can tell about such things. Fish are what some people would call notionate; they bite well one day and then given you the grand laugh the next one.”