“Boarding-school rot, eh? And you, Winthrope?”
“If you would kindly name over what you have in mind.”
“Um!” grunted Blake. “Well, it’s first of all a question of a practical–practical, mind you,–knowledge of metallurgy, ceramics, and how to stick an arrow through a beef roast.”
“I–ah–I believe I intimated that I have some knowledge of archery. But I doubt–”
“Cut it out! You’ll have enough else to do. Get busy over those bows and arrows, and don’t quit till you’ve got them in shape. Leave my bow good and stiff. I can pull like a mule can kick. Well, Miss Jenny; what is it?”
“Is not–has not ceramics something to do with burning china?”
“Sure!–china, pottery, and all that. Know anything about it?”
“Why, I have a friend who amuses herself by painting china, and I know it has to be burned.”
“And that’s all!” grunted Blake. “Well, let me tell you. When I was a little kid I used to work in a pottery. All I can remember is that they’d take clay, shape it into a pot, dry it, and bake the thing in a kiln. We’ve got to work the same game somehow. This kind of eating will mean dysentery in short order. So there’s going to be a bean-pot for our stews, or Tom Blake’ll know the reason why. Nurse up that ankle of yours, Win. We’ll trek it to-morrow–cocoanuts, and maybe something else. There’s clay on the far bank of the river, and across from it I saw a streak that looked like brown hæmatite.”