“No, Evan, if you upset that coffee-pot we will descend upon you and rend you limb from limb,” threatened Rob. “I’m so thirsty now that I could drink suds. Are these tin cups all the same size, Mal?” “Of course. Why?” “I was going to pick out the biggest one,” sighed Rob. “How are the potatoes, Evan?” “All right, I guess. They look――er――a trifle well-done, but I suppose they’re all right inside. Want to see one?” Rob deftly caught the blackened object that Evan tossed him but didn’t hold it long in his hand. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “Want to kill me?” “Get your plates!” said Malcolm. “Dinner’s ready!” CHAPTER X STORIES AND SLUMBER That dinner was worth waiting for, worth all the trouble and weariness it had entailed. They sat around the smoldering fire, balancing tin plates on their knees, with cups of steaming hot coffee and buttered rolls and doughnuts and salt and pepper-boxes dotting the immediate landscape, and did full justice to it. Malcolm’s opinion of his culinary ability was justified by results. The steak was just right, Jelly’s chops were cooked to a turn, the two precious eggs were perfectly fried and the coffee――well, perhaps the coffee was a trifle muddy, but it was hot and it was drinkable and there were no criticisms. The potatoes belied their outward appearance and were surprisingly white and mealy when opened. Jelly had forgotten to provide himself with plate, cup, knife, fork or spoon and ate his dinner from a flat stone, using borrowed implements and his fingers by turns. Malcolm shared his tin cup with him. “Have a piece of chop, Rob?” asked Jelly. “No, thanks.” “I wish you would. I had some of your steak.” “What kind of chops are they?” “I――I think they’re veal. Anyhow, there isn’t much taste to them.” “Then of course they’re veal,” laughed Malcolm. “Evan, I’ll bet you didn’t get all the potatoes out; we’re shy four or five.” “Here’s one if you want it. I got all I could find. How’s the coffee holding out, Rob?” Rob seized the pot and shook it. “Plenty here, I guess. Pass your cup.” “It’s always well to shake it about a bit,” said Malcolm dryly. “It makes it so nice and clear.” “Oh, don’t be so fussy. Any one seen the canned cow? _And_ the sugar? Thanks. Jelly, you got my spoon?” “Yes, I’m eating egg with it. Want it?” “Well, scarcely,” replied Evan. “Let me take yours, Rob. These are dandy doughnuts, fellows.” “They’re crullers,” said Jelly indistinctly by reason of the crowded condition of his mouth. “Cook said so.” “What’s the difference between a cruller and a doughnut, anyway?” asked Evan. “A doughnut is a cruller with a hole through it,” answered Malcolm. “It’s a doughnut with a college education,” amended Rob. “That’s an old one,” scoffed Malcolm. “Doughnuts and crullers are just the same,” said Jelly. “It just depends where they live what they’re called. In some places they call them fried-cakes.”