“Yes. You see, I happen to be inordinately fond of mushrooms. In an extravagant moment I purchased a can of them; they cost me sixty cents. Naturally, they can only be opened on some occasion of special importance, an occasion which has not yet transpired. So, to all practical purposes, the can of mushrooms was non-existent. Well, considering the problem confronting me, I took a walk about my new domain and stumbled on your camp. It was empty. ‘Providence,’ thought I, ‘has befriended me. I will investigate.’ I assure you, young gentlemen--and young lady--that I took no liberties beyond what you know of. Said I, ‘I will take of their plenty, paying as I can, now in a verse and later, maybe, in something more practical.’ So I took half a loaf of bread and perhaps half a pound of butter, the whole valued at about eighteen cents, let us say. In return I left two verses worth, at market rates, about two dollars. My conscience was at rest and my stomach at peace.” “Why,” exclaimed Harry, “then we owe you a dollar and seventy-two cents!” “Eighty-two,” corrected Roy. But the Licensed Poet raised his left hand, which at that moment happened not to be busy, in a gesture of disavowal. “The market price, dear young lady,” he said, “is not my price. My price for the verses was about eighteen cents.” “Oh!” murmured Harry, a little mystified. “Thanks for the fish,” said Dick. “They were fine.” “You are very welcome. I was so fortunate as to catch eight that morning.” “Here on the island?” asked Chub interestedly. “No, some distance up the river, near where a small stream enters.” “I know the place,” said Chub eagerly. “We must try it some time, fellows.” “Then you have a boat,” said Roy. “Yes,” answered the Poet. “The _Minerva_. She is neither large nor beautiful, but she does very well. I bought her for four dollars and a half, throwing in a set of dentist’s instruments. The instruments originally cost nearly twenty dollars, but they were no longer in their first bloom.” “Are you a dentist, too?” asked Harry, shrinking a little away from him. “I was a dentist for a brief space,” was the reply. “But I never had any heart for the profession. I am by nature, though I say it myself, very gentle. If I had my way there’d be no pain in the world. Naturally, extracting teeth was not an agreeable task; I believe that in most cases I suffered more agony than the patient. Would it be a breach of manners to ask for another small piece of the ham?”