“Well, pard, how do yer like ’em?” inquired the cook, sending another spinning over to Walter’s plate.
“They’re just the best ever!” exclaimed the boy enthusiastically. “I’m going to teach cook to make ’em when I get home. Wish dad could have one of these right now. Say, Jim, it’s my turn to fry now.”
The guide tossed one more to begin on while Walter was frying the next, and then turned the frying-pan over to the amateur cook. Big Jim’s eyes twinkled as the boy reached for a knife with which to turn the cake. His big hand closed over the knife first.
“Nobody can be a side pardner o’ mine who has t’ take a knife t’ turn a flapjack,” he drawled, “and, son, I kind o’ think I’d like you fer a side pardner. Thet bein’ so, up she goes!”
Walter grinned sheepishly and gave the frying-pan an awkward toss. The required twist of the wrist was wholly lacking and, instead of turning a graceful somersault in the air, the cake shot out at an angle and landed soft side down on the very spot the guide had occupied a second before. That worthy, with wisdom born of experience, had shifted his base at the first motion of the frying-pan, and was now rolling on the ground in huge glee, his infectious laugh rolling through the camp.
Walter, his face crimson with more than the heat of the fire, bit his lips in chagrin which he could not hide, but being blessed with a strong sense of humor he joined in the laugh and straightway prepared to try again. This time, under a running fire of comment and advice from Big Jim, who solemnly assured him that in his humble opinion “the landscape ain’t really a-needin’ blueberry frescoes t’ improve its beauty,” he succeeded in sending the cake into the air within catching distance of the pan, but it lacked the impetus to send it high enough to turn completely over, and fell back in the pan in a shapeless mass.
Big Jim cast an appraising eye at the batter kettle and, evidently considering that his chances of a square meal were in jeopardy, reached for the pan and gave Walter a practical demonstration. Holding the pan slanting in front of and away from him he gave it a couple of preliminary easy flaps to get the swing, then flipped boldly and sharply. It seemed the easiest thing in the world, and in fact it is when you know how. Returning the pan to Walter he had the latter go through the motions several times until he was satisfied. Then he bade him pour in the batter and go ahead.
Slowly at first, then faster the bubbles broke to the surface. Presently the edges stiffened and with a little shake Walter felt that the cake was loose and free in the pan. Getting the preliminary swing he gave the pan a sharp upward flip and a second later the cake was back over the fire, brown side up.
The guide nodded approvingly. “Reckon yer goin’ t’ be a sure enough woodsman,” he said. “Nobody what can’t toss a flapjack has any business t’ think he’s th’ real thing in th’ woods.”
Breakfast finished it fell to Walter to wash the dishes while the guide went out to look for deer signs. Cleanliness is next to godliness in camp as well as at home, and hot water is as necessary to wash dishes in the one place as in the other. Walter had finished his work and was hanging the towel to dry when he heard a queer noise behind him. Turning, he was just in time to see a bird about the size of a blue jay, but gray and white in color, making off with the cake of soap which he had left on a log.