Each of them expected to take a hand at this necessary job. In
anticipation of the opportunity to shine as a talented _chef_
Bandy-legs had in secret been coaxing the hired girl at home to teach him
a lot of things.

As his turn would come on the second day, he could hardly restrain his
impatience. He surely calculated that when his chums saw what wonderful
things _real talent_ could accomplish, they would easily vote him a
prize.

But Bandy-legs had much to learn.

His ambition was all right, but he would soon discover the vast difference
between cooking at a gas range or the family coal stove and trying to
accomplish the same result out in the wilds over an open wood fire.

Then, again, he had stuffed his head so very full of different recipes that
the chances were poor Bandy-legs must get the formulas mixed, which would
result in some mighty queer messes to be tried upon his patient campmates.

After the meal was finished those who were to do the grand wading act of
the afternoon got ready to go forth.

They took the bags, and received minute directions from Max concerning the
best way for finding the mussels, half buried as they were in mud or sand.

Max also made a rude map on paper, taking in the supposed course of the
winding river, as well as the country that came between.