“There’s your muskrat,” said Blake, calmly. “Now let’s eat him. We can’t be squeamish.”
“Muskrat? That’s no muskrat!” yelled C. C. Piper, as he came running up to inquire the cause of the shot.
“What is it, then?” asked Blake.
“It’s a ’possum, and a fine fat one, too!”
“Opossum!” repeated Blake. “Is it good to eat? That’s what interests me now, more than what sort of an animal it is.”
“Good to eat! I should say so!” cried the moving picture actor. “They’re fine, baked with sweet potatoes.”
“Well, we’ll have to get along without the sweet potatoes, boys,” remarked Mr. Ringold, laughingly. “But it’s lucky you got him, Blake. Opossum is good eating.”
Blake and Joe looked a bit doubtful, but, when the animal was served, they ate with a zest that comes from a good appetite.
“It must have jumped on the raft the time we were stuck on the island,” said Joe. “And it’s lucky for us that it did.”
The opossum, so providentially obtained, served to put them over that day and part of the next.