“Ah!” sighed Max, “if we had now but a cup of coffee and a hot roll, those inestimable blessings of civilisation, we could almost forget that we are on a desert island.”
“Wait until the bread-fruit ripens,” said Arthur, “and we shall have a tolerably fair substitute for your ‘hot rolls.’ Eiulo will show us the most approved mode of preparing it, and we shall find it nearly equal to the wheaten loaf.”
“All that Max seems to think about, is the eating,” said Browne, swallowing the last remaining oyster, “but I begin to feel troubled about another matter: see, I am getting fairly out at the elbows, and neither ‘coffee and rolls,’ nor roast-beef and plum-pudding in indefinite quantities, would afford me any satisfaction, compared to the possession of a supply of clothing, or even a few changes of linen—in fact, comrades, what are we to do? There is danger that we shall all become savages: I begin to feel a loss of self-respect already.”
“We shall have to go into the manufacturing business, I suppose,” said Arthur. “I have often watched the whole process of making tappa, or native cloth, from the bark of the paper-mulberry; it is quite simple, and I have no doubt we can succeed in it; I have talked with Eiulo on the subject and find that he understands the process thoroughly.”
“But are there any paper-mulberries on the island!” inquired Morton.
“I have not seen any,” answered Arthur. “If there are none, the bark of the bread-fruit tree will answer nearly as well: the cloth made from it is as strong and durable, though not so fine.”
“For the present, and before we go into home manufactures,” said Max, “I advise Shakespeare, in order to avoid the loss of his remaining self-respect in consequence of wearing foul linen, to betake himself to the beach, wash his garments, and take a bath until they dry in the sun, which is the course I intend to pursue myself.”
“And what are we going to do for shoes, I wonder!” said Johnny, “mine are badly cracked and torn, and nearly worn out: we shall all have to go barefoot!” and he looked aghast at the thought.
“We must kill a shark by-and-bye,” said Arthur, “when we have nothing more pressing to do; and we can make leggins, or moccasins, from the skin.”
“How these things kill the romance and poetry of desert island life!” said Max, “there’s no romance about being out at the elbows, or being obliged to wear dirty linen—”