"Belong to show?" he asked, waving a frying pan.
"Sure, I do," answered Andy, proudly.
"Help me a little, will you?"
"Glad to. What can I do?"
"Open these lard and butter casks and carry them in. I haven't time.
There's a hatchet. My stuff is all burning up inside."
A hissing splutter of his ovens made the cook dive into his tent. Andy picked up a chisel dropped by the cook. He opened six casks standing on the ground and carried them inside.
The cooking odor pervading the place was very pleasing. The cook's assistants were few, some of the regulars were absent, Andy guessed from what he heard the cook say. The latter was rushed to death, and jumping from stove to stove and utensil to utensil in a great flutter of excitement and haste for he was behind in his work.
Andy caught on to the situation. In a swift, quiet way he anticipated the cook's needs. He dipped and dried some skillets near a trough of water. He sharpened some knives. He carried some charcoal hods nearer to a stove needing replenishing.
After awhile the cook began to whistle cheerily. His perplexities were lessening, and he felt good humored over it.
"Things in running order," he chirped. "You're a game lad. Hold on a minute."