It was getting along toward noon when he fancied he detected the odor of cooking in the air.
“Let him have a try at it; I guess it’s up to Will to show how much he has learned in the cooking line since last Fall. He’s a green hand, and it’s about time he took hold. I’m comfortable here. When grub’s ready he’ll call me,” was what the sly Bluff was saying to himself, as he kept his back turned toward the camp, and continued to tempt the perch.
“Hey! you, Bluff!” came a shout just then.
“What d’ye want, bothering me in that way?” demanded the fisherman.
“For goodness’ sake come ashore and give me a hand. I can’t find any more dishes, and the pesky thing still keeps bubbling over. Come quick, or we’ll be smothered under a mountain of it!” shouted the one on shore.
“Now what under the sun has the fellow been up to?” said Bluff to himself, as he pulled in his anchor, and used the paddle to urge the canoe ashore.
When he strode into the camp a minute or so later he stared, and then burst into a shout of laughter as he dropped upon the ground and rolled about.
“Well, I don’t see anything so funny about it,” declared Will, in an aggrieved tone as he looked at the various kettles and dishes heaped high with boiled rice, and the kettle on the fire still pouring up its white contents like a miniature volcano in action. “I never knew rice would expand like that. Why, it’s dreadful the way it keeps boiling over. What can we do to hold the stuff?”
“Say, how much did you put in the kettle?” gasped Bluff, when he could speak.
“All there was, and even then I wondered if there would be any left for the rest.”