When Buster wanted he could “soft soap” equal to the best of them; and while Josh understood full well that this was a plain invitation for him to shoulder some of the responsibility for that coming meal, he found it impossible to resist the bland smile of the stout chum.
“Rats! you just spread that honey on thick so as to drag me in; but I’m on to your curves, Buster. All the same, hold the fort while I throw some of the Mississippi into my face, and I’ll relieve you,” he called out as he walked away.
“You’re all right, Josh, and I don’t care who hears me say so,” cried Buster, who never could do the cooking act without getting so much pungent smoke in his poor eyes that he appeared to be weeping.
Possibly Josh found himself on edge for some refreshment, and that might account for his unusual kindness; for he speedily did show up, and took entire charge of the business.
About this time others began to crawl out of their blankets; and even George poked his head over the side of the Wireless; for, as was his usual custom, he could not feel perfectly happy away from his beloved if troublesome boat, even for a single night, and had slept aboard.
“Pretty late for breakfast, ain’t it?” demanded Herb as they began to gather around while Josh started to divide the contents of the two fryingpans between them all.
“Oh! call it a warm lunch if you like,” sang out Buster, who was feeling fine; “I began to think when nobody seemed to stir, that our next meal would be supper. So, as that was too much, I just determined I’d show you all that I could be progressive for once, and I started this bully meal agoing, didn’t I, Josh?”
“That’s right, Buster, so you did,” nodded the one addressed, who was also in an unusually good humor, after the lively events of the preceding night. “But what are you alookin’ at me like that for, Jack?”
“I was wondering if you felt like taking a little run with me, that’s all,” came the reply from the Commodore.