by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XXIII.
CRANE RELENTS.
The supper was indeed a genuine feast. The vegetables, being wellcooked, tasted delicious to the hungry boys, and Crane declared thatnever before had he “stuck a tooth into such snappin’ good lambsteak.”Their wet clothing had dried out completely, and, properly dressed, theywere inclined to lounge about after eating, their well filled stomachsmaking them comfortably torpid and lazy.
But Stone would not let them loaf until the work of starting the beansbaking was performed. Slightly more than a full pint of beans wereplaced in a kettle of boiling water to which one-fourth of a teaspoonfulof baking soda had been added. Two of the boys cut and brought a bigsupply of dry hardwood, while the other two were digging a deep hole inthe ground a short distance from the regular fireplace; and when thehole was dug to the cook’s satisfaction he filled it with plenty oflight kindling and built above it a high pile of crossed hardwoodsticks, cob-house fashion. A blaze was then started in the kindling, andsoon the whole mass was roaring like a bonfire.
While the fire was burning down and filling the hole with a mass ofred-hot, glowing coals, Ben completed the preparation of the beans,which had been permitted to boil a full half hour. A sizeable piece ofsalt pork was cut in two pieces, each of which was gashed with a knife.One piece was placed in the bottom of the kettle, and then the beans,with the water fully drained off, were poured in upon the pork, thesecond piece of which was placed on top of them. Salt, pepper and atablespoonful of molasses were added, and the cover of the pot put onsecurely.
Next the coals were carefully raked out of the hole, into which thebeanpot was placed. This done, the coals were pushed back around thepot, packing it on every side and covering it from view. Lastly theseglowing coals were covered by a few inches of earth, and then Benannounced that the work was done.
“Huh!” grunted Springer skeptically. “Do you mum-mean to tell us thatbeans will cook pup-properly that way? Why, they won’t get half donebefore those coals will all be dead.”
“We’ll see about that in the morning,” said Ben, with a faint smile. “Iadmit this is the first time I’ve ever cooked them in this fashion, butI once saw beans baked in a hole at a Grand Army encampment, and I don’tbelieve I’ve bungled much.”
The evening passed quickly and pleasantly enough. For a time Grantstrummed on his guitar; but, somehow, they were not in the mood forsinging, and when they finally grew weary of story-telling and chattingthey went to bed.
And for the first time since coming to Pleasant Point all slept soundlythe night through.
It must be confessed that Stone arose in the morning with a slightfeeling of anxiety about the beans, although he successfully disguisedthis fact, taking the regular plunge with the others and dressing asdeliberately as any of them. No one suggested fishing this morning, butall seemed eager for breakfast.
“Bub-bub-baked beans would go first-rate,” said Springer; “but I’mafraid we’ll feed on something else.”
The table laid, they watched Ben open the bake-hole and lift out thebeanpot. To their surprise, in that hole there were still coals whichgleamed the moment the air reached them, and the pot was so hot that itwas handled with some caution and difficulty. When the embers were fullyremoved from the cover, Stone opened the pot, and immediately an aromarose that brought exclamations of delight from everyone. The beans weresmooth and full and brown and perfectly baked.
“I tut-take it all back,” cried Springer. “I offer a humble apology,chef. Say, you’re a wizard.”
“The greatest cook that ever came daown the pike, that’s what he is,”pronounced Crane. “Oh gimme a dip at them beans before I expire.”
Now for breakfast, under ordinary conditions, beans are a hearty foodindeed; but the short time they had been in camp had prepared the ladsto relish just such heavy food, and digest it, too. Therefore, like thesupper of the previous night, this breakfast was voted a tremendoussuccess.
Shortly after breakfast Crane suddenly started up in a listeningattitude, and, observing him, the others also listened, hearing thesound of wagon-wheels a short distance away in the woods. A look ofalmost savage joy contorted Sile’s features as he hissed:
“Here comes that confaounded Dutch boy! Yeou watch me! I’ll scare himinto fits.”
But when he hurried forward, eager to put his hands on Carl, he met witha surprise. Drawing the wagon, the old white horse came into view, butthe person on the wagon-seat was not Carl. Instead, it was a fat,placid, moon-faced man, who was smoking a huge crooked pipe.
“Hang it!” growled Sile, halting abruptly. “It’s the old Dutchmanhimself!”
“How you vas, poys?” gurgled Herman Duckelstein, without offering tostep down from the wagon. “You can took dose thing vot I haf prought;undt I vill aroundt turn. A crate hurry I vas in.”
“Huh!” exploded Sile. “Where’s that boy of yourn?”
“My poy? He didn’t not came.”
“Yes, I notice it. Why didn’t he come?”
“Maype he vas busy py something else. Yah. Vas it disappointment dot hedidt not come?”
“Yes, a great disappointment,” rasped Sile. “I’m mighty sorry not to seehim this morning.”
“You seem to like my poy, Carl, ain’t it? You seem to enchoy hiscompanies vhen he comes to seen you, no? Vot vas der matter py yourface?”
Sile ignored the question. “I kinder hope you’ll send Carl tomorrermorning, Mr. Duckelstein,” he said. “Yeou’re right abaout aour enjoyin’his company.”
“Carl toldt me dot an eel didt catch him here,” said Duckelstein, asuspicious twinkle in his eyes. “Didt you at him laugh undt good sportshave vhen dot eel caught him?”
“Well,” admitted Sile, grinning a little, “yeou see we couldn’t helplaffin’, considerin’ the fact that it wa’n’t no eel, only an old rootthat got ketched on his line.”
“Vas dot correction?” said Duckelstein soberly. “Maype dot poy didt nottoldt me dot. Maype he toldt me dot he peen afraidt der eels vas vaitingin der voods aroundt here to chump at him undt give him a pites. Didtyou nefer see anythings around here dot at you chumped undt gafe you apite, no?”
In spite of his efforts to refrain, Springer suddenly giggled outright,which caused Sile to flush painfully and frown in a forbidding way.
“Yeou’ve got a purty smart boy, mister,” growled Crane. “Anyhaow, Is’pose he thinks he’s smart.”
“Vale, maype,” beamed the Dutch farmer, “he iss not a fool so pig assomepody took him to be. Sometimes he peen carelessness undt forgetful.I peliefe vhen he vas here der last times a tin pail forgot him, mit acover undt a strap to holdt on dot cover vhen dere vas in der pailsomethings dot Carl didt not vant to out come. Uf you didt notobjections, I vill avay took dot pail, pecause maype Carl vould like touse him again. Yah.”
And now Grant laughed aloud. “There’s the pail and strap yonder on theground, Mr. Duckelstein,” he said. “We sure don’t want any property thatdoesn’t belong to us.”
“That’s right,” said Crane. “Take yeour dratted old pail.”
“Maype you didt not a choke enchoy vhen it vas yourself on,” saidDuckelstein, in a manner of mild reproof. “Dot is der vay uf somepeoples. It is crate fun vhen der choke vas somepody else on, but vhenit home comes dot makes a tifference. Over think dot a little, my poy.Uf you couldt not a choke stood yourself on, don’t play him somepodyelse on, pecause you couldt not tell vhen dot other feller vill pack getat you a choke vot iss petter as der vun you didt up think yourself.”
Silenced, Crane retreated to think it over. He was still thinking sometime after Mr. Duckelstein had departed. Finally he looked up, a slowgrin creeping over his face.
“I guess that old Dutchman is abaout right,” he nodded; “a feller thatcan’t take a joke hadn’t better be playin’ ’em on other folks.Furthermore, yeou can’t never be sure that the dumb duffer yeou’rehavin’ fun with ain’t got a knockout come-back hi
d up his sleeve. GuessI’ll forgit it and try to show that I ain’t a squealer. Maybe I won’thug that Dutch boy when I see him, but, anyhaow, I’ll agree not to handhim a wallopin’.”
