Every one seemed to have lost his appetite. Dave Brandon presently arose, holding his plate. He was seen to make an awkward lurch. The tin did not escape from his fingers, but its contents described a curve through the air and splashed heavily into the water to become food for the fishes.
"My goodness, how awkward," he sighed, with a solemn expression.
The others envied his skill, but did not try to follow his example. Dick, Bob and Sam, martyrs to the cause, munched slowly and sadly away, trying to figure out how long it would be before the taste of the food would compel them to stop.
Tom sat down last, and had hardly started when an exclamation escaped his lips: "Frightful!" he sputtered. "I didn't suppose that anything in the shape of cooking could be so bad. I'd like to know what could have happened to it, anyway."
"You forgot to put in water, perhaps," laughed Bob.
"And in order to make up for it, used a whole bag of salt, eh?" suggested Dave, slyly.
"And tried to dispose of all our coffee at one shot. There surely can't be much left, after this."
"Never mind," returned Tom, good-naturedly; "perhaps the fish are hungry, and there's enough water in the river to dissolve out the salt. I move that we act in a liberal manner toward them, and begin all over again."
Without a word, his companions arose. Numerous splashes resounded, tin plates were washed, and a considerable amount of burnt substance scraped from the inside of the pots.
When every vestige of Tom's first attempt at cooking had been disposed of, a rabbit stew was decided on, and the Ramblers brightened up.