"Can we help ourselves?" Warde asked, as they glided out on the river.
"Yes, yes, yes, help yourselves to anything," called Minerva, "only bring them back—pile them in the boat—it doesn't make any difference how—only hurry, he may drift off again."
"Now you see," said Roy, addressing Warde, "the harder you work and the longer you wait the hungrier you'll be. Everything is working out fine, thanks to me."
"Oh, sure," said Warde, already breathless from his strenuous rowing, "they give you roast turkey up at Skybrows; they give you chicken salad and sandwiches and—only try to get it. I'm so hungry I could eat the island, thanks to you. I could eat a whisk-broom. Follow you and I'll starve."
"Did you ever eat any of that kid's hunter's stew?" Townsend asked as he rowed.
"Did we?" said Roy. "It's the best thing I know of if you want to stay home from school."
"It's kind of queer," said Townsend.
"Oh, yes, mysterious," said Warde.
"Let's talk of something pleasant," said Roy.
"Well, I'm pretty hungry, too," said Townsend.