He ran through the list.

"Don't think I'm going on short rations," laughed Frank, noting the
expression akin to dismay appearing on the other's face; "but you see
we'll have our motor-cycles along, and when we need a new lot of
groceries it'll just be fun to mount and fly down here to pick up a
bundle. Read out the variety, Bluff, and see if any one thinks we want
anything else."

"H'm, here's matches, sugar, tea, coffee, condemned milk--I mean
condensed milk--butter, four loaves of bread made at home by Frank's
hired girl, who's a dandy cook," read Bluff, in a sing-song tone. "Then
comes bacon, salt pork for cooking fish with, half a ham, potatoes,
pepper and salt, self-raising flour, cornmeal, fine hominy, rice, beans,
canned corn, tomatoes, Boston baked beans, a jar of jam, canned
corned-beef and crackers.

"What else--don't all speak at once?" asked Frank, holding a
pencil ready.

"I say a nice juicy beefsteak for the first night in camp; we won't be
able to produce any game at short notice, I reckon, and that would be
fine; just put that down for my sake, chief," observed Jerry.

"And, say, ain't we going to have any onions?" asked Bluff indignantly,
at which Frank doubled up as if taken with a fit.

"That's one on me, boys. Why, I wouldn't ever think of going into camp
without a supply of good onions along. If you ever came trudging home at
evening, with game on your back, tired to beat the band, and when near