“Except dog-fish; I draw the line there,” objected Josh. “But here’s some meat to bait your line with, Buster; you see, Jack brought a steak along, thinking we’d miss it all of a sudden; and we’re going to fry some onions with that. Makes your mouth water, don’t it?”
“Makes me eyes run a-peelin’ these same onions!” groaned Jimmie; “somebody please do be koind enough to take out me hanky, and woipe me tears away. ’Tis remimberin’ me ould grandmither I am at this blissed minute and that’s what makes me cry.”
Buster kindly performed that brotherly duty, and then busied himself with his fish lines. Rod or pole he had none, nor did Buster ever bother with such a thing as a reel. A large hook, with a hunk of meat fastened to it, and dropped overboard, suited his ideas all right; after which he trusted to luck to bring him a capture.
The fire was started by Jack, and already Josh could be seen getting ready to serve as chef. He had fetched along a cute little white cap without a peak, which he donned whenever he had to serve as the “dish-slinger and pot wrestler,” as he was fond of calling his occupation. It was intended to stand for his badge of authority; and when he had it on, the rest were supposed to be his willing slaves, ready to jump at his bidding.
There is no part of an outing that suits boys better than preparing meals, unless it is in disposing of the same after they are cooked. With appetites whetted to a keen edge by the air, and freedom from anxiety, they can hardly wait until called to the feast, but wander around, begging the cook to please hurry, if he does not want to have a funeral on his hands.
There was always more or less merry talk passing back and forth while these six comrades tried and true, got dinner ready; for they were a good-natured lot, and very fond of each other, despite frequent bickerings, usually between George on the one hand, and some chum on the other.
Buster had managed to set his two lines, as best the conditions allowed. Since George was so touchy about his rocking the narrow boat with his clumsy movements, Buster had gone out to the beamy Comfort, and fastened one of his stout lines to a cleat he found handy. The other he had thrown out from the shore above, and tied to a stake driven into the earth, just as he had seen a snubbing-post used down in Florida, when sharks were being fished for around the inlets.