“Best way is to kick them off,” explained Blake. “But the point is that we’ve hopped over the starvation stile. Understand? The whole blessed cliff end is an omelette waiting for our pan. Pass the leopardettes, Miss Jenny.”
When the last bit of meat had disappeared, Blake raked the eggs from the ashes, and began to crack them, solemnly sniffing at each before he laid it on its leaf platter. Some were a trifle “high.” None, however, were thrown away.
When it was all over, Winthrope contemplated the scattered shells with a satisfied air.
“Do you know,” he remarked, “this is the first time I have felt–er–replenished since we found those cocoanuts.”
“How about one of ’em now to top off on?” questioned Blake.
Miss Leslie sighed. “Why did you speak of them! I am still hungry enough to eat more eggs–a dozen–that is, if we had a little salt and butter.”
“And a silver cup and napkins!” added Blake. “About the salt, though, we’ll have to get some before long, and some kind of vegetable food. It won’t do to keep up this whole meat menu.”
“If only those little bamboo sprouts were as good as they look–like a kind of asparagus!” murmured Miss Leslie.
“I’ve heard that the Chinese eat them,” said Winthrope.
“They eat rats, too,” commented Blake.