They fastened the boat securely and spent a few minutes comparing their
catches. Then they gathered a heap of dry brush and burned it until they
had a glowing bed of embers. They had no frying pan, but Bert improvised
an ingenious skillet of tough oaken twigs, that, held high enough above
the fire, promised to broil the fish to a turn.
Tom, who, in accordance with the agreement, had nothing to do, stretched
himself out luxuriously and "bossed the job."
"See that you don't burn the fish, my man," he said to Bert, affecting a
languid drawl. "And you, my good fellow," he added, turning to Dick, "be
sure and clean them thoroughly."
He dodged just in time to avoid a fish head that Dick threw at him. It
whizzed by his ear, and his quick duck detracted somewhat from his
dignity.
"The growing insolence of the lower classes," he muttered, regaining his
equilibrium. "You're fired," he roared, glaring at Dick.
"All right," said Dick, throwing down his knife.
"No, no," corrected Tom hurriedly, "not till after dinner."
Before long the fish were sputtering merrily over the fire and the
appetizing smell was full of promise.
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