“Remember what I said about drawing lots for the two extras.”
He watched Teddy eagerly as the other forked his first “saddle,” pulled it apart, and took his first bite. There were no words spoken; none were needed, since actions always speak louder than any language.
Teddy hesitated, and Dolph frowned; then suddenly a look of deep satisfaction chased away this cloud from the face of the cook; for Teddy was gnawing savagely at both frogs legs at the same time, as though that single taste had set him fairly wild, and grunting like a satisfied porker, as he ate.
But three seemed to be his limit.
“Mighty fine, all right, Mr. Cook,” he declared, “and next time set me down for a round half dozen; but just now I draw the line at three. It’s a queer dish, you know, and a fellow had better go a little slow till he gets used to it.”
“But that leaves an extra saddle, just like before. Don’t you think you could get away with just one more, to save trouble?” pleaded Dolph.
“Not on your life. I’ve had enough, and I know it. I don’t want to overeat, and get a distaste for such a fine dish. Draw lots for the odd one, you and Amos. And I’ll hold the straws. Long one eats my share.”
It fell to Dolph.
“But you’re welcome to it, if you really care for another, Amos,” he said, generously.
The result of all this talking was that there were just three saddles left over. Dolph and Amos were stalled at four each.