"Of course it was---unless the thief were really very hungry,"
answered Tom.

"In that case, I don't believe I'd blame the fellow so much,"
Dick admitted. "But now, what are we going to have for supper?"

"I've an inspiration," Tom declared, as he thrust a fork into
some of the potatoes in the pot. "These potatoes will be done
in two or three minutes more. Open three tins of the corned beef."

"Tinned corned beef isn't so much of an inspiration, as inspirations
go," laughed Dick.

"Open the three tins," Tom insisted. "Here are the onions. I'll
peel a few---and do the weeping for the whole camp."

Tom was busy at once. Dick, after watching his friend start,
caught something of the spirit of quick work.

"Dump the meat into this chopping bowl," Tom continued, as he
hastily dropped peeled onion after onion into the wooden bowl.
"Now, get the potatoes off the fire, and we'll drain and peel
'em."

This work was quickly under way.

"Do you see what the poem is to be?" grinned Reade.

"Looks like corned beef hash," smiled Dick.