will. There was a little stove aboard that used gasoline for fuel, and
with this it seemed as though they ought to be able to do all the
cooking they wanted when away from land. Of course should they have the
opportunity, they meant to go ashore many times, and have one of the
old-fashioned camp-fires, around which they had sat so many times in the
past, when on their outings.

Before long the smell of cooking that filled the air told that the
laborers were making a success of the warm lunch business. Bumpus in
particular seemed fairly wild for things to get done.

"I tell you, I just can't seem to get any warmth inside me," he
complained when Step Hen took him to task for showing such unusual
impatience. "That water was as cold as Greenland, and went right
through me. I want my coffee, and I know when I want it."

"Guess your being so badly scared had a heap to do with it," remarked
Giraffe.

"Perhaps so, Giraffe," replied the fat scout, meekly; "I admit that I
was frightened out of a year's growth, because I once dreamed I was
burned in just such an accident as a boat taking fire. But how about
you, Giraffe? The first time my head came up above the coming of the
deck I saw your face, and say, talk to me about a gravestone being
white, that wasn't anything alongside your phiz."

"You don't say!" jeered the tall scout, though he looked conscious of
the fact that his face was now as red as a beet.

"And chances are that you didn't jump the same way I did because you