CRANE RELENTS.
The supper was indeed a genuine feast. The vegetables, being well
cooked, tasted delicious to the hungry boys, and Crane declared that
never before had he “stuck a tooth into such snappin’ good lambsteak.”
Their wet clothing had dried out completely, and, properly dressed, they
were inclined to lounge about after eating, their well filled stomachs
making them comfortably torpid and lazy.
But Stone would not let them loaf until the work of starting the beans
baking was performed. Slightly more than a full pint of beans were
placed in a kettle of boiling water to which one-fourth of a teaspoonful
of baking soda had been added. Two of the boys cut and brought a big
supply of dry hardwood, while the other two were digging a deep hole in
the ground a short distance from the regular fireplace; and when the
hole was dug to the cook’s satisfaction he filled it with plenty of
light kindling and built above it a high pile of crossed hardwood
sticks, cob-house fashion. A blaze was then started in the kindling, and
soon the whole mass was roaring like a bonfire.
While the fire was burning down and filling the hole with a mass of
red-hot, glowing coals, Ben completed the preparation of the beans,
which had been permitted to boil a full half hour. A sizeable piece of
salt pork was cut in two pieces, each of which was gashed with a knife.
One piece was placed in the bottom of the kettle, and then the beans,
with the water fully drained off, were poured in upon the pork, the
second piece of which was placed on top of them. Salt, pepper and a
tablespoonful of molasses were added, and the cover of the pot put on
securely.
Next the coals were carefully raked out of the hole, into which the
beanpot was placed. This done, the coals were pushed back around the
pot, packing it on every side and covering it from view. Lastly these
glowing coals were covered by a few inches of earth, and then Ben
announced that the work was done.
“Huh!” grunted Springer skeptically. “Do you mum-mean to tell us that
beans will cook pup-properly that way? Why, they won’t get half done
before those coals will all be dead.”
“We’ll see about that in the morning,” said Ben, with a faint smile. “I
admit this is the first time I’ve ever cooked them in this fashion, but
I once saw beans baked in a hole at a Grand Army encampment, and I don’t
believe I’ve bungled much.”
The evening passed quickly and pleasantly enough. For a time Grant
strummed on his guitar; but, somehow, they were not in the mood for
singing, and when they finally grew weary of story-telling and chatting
they went to bed.
And for the first time since coming to Pleasant Point all slept soundly
the night through.
It must be confessed that Stone arose in the morning with a slight
feeling of anxiety about the beans, although he successfully disguised
this fact, taking the regular plunge with the others and dressing as
deliberately as any of them. No one suggested fishing this morning, but
all seemed eager for breakfast.
“Bub-bub-baked beans would go first-rate,” said Springer; “but I’m
afraid we’ll feed on something else.”
The table laid, they watched Ben open the bake-hole and lift out the
beanpot. To their surprise, in that hole there were still coals which
gleamed the moment the air reached them, and the pot was so hot that it
was handled with some caution and difficulty. When the embers were fully
removed from the cover, Stone opened the pot, and immediately an aroma
rose that brought exclamations of delight from everyone. The beans were
smooth and full and brown and perfectly baked.
“I tut-take it all back,” cried Springer. “I offer a humble apology,
chef. Say, you’re a wizard.”
“The greatest cook that ever came daown the pike, that’s what he is,”
pronounced Crane. “Oh gimme a dip at them beans before I expire.”
Now for breakfast, under ordinary conditions, beans are a hearty food
indeed; but the short time they had been in camp had prepared the lads
to relish just such heavy food, and digest it, too. Therefore, like the
supper of the previous night, this breakfast was voted a tremendous
success.
Shortly after breakfast Crane suddenly started up in a listening
attitude, and, observing him, the others also listened, hearing the
sound of wagon-wheels a short distance away in the woods. A look of
almost savage joy contorted Sile’s features as he hissed:
“Here comes that confaounded Dutch boy! Yeou watch me! I’ll scare him
into fits.”
But when he hurried forward, eager to put his hands on Carl, he met with
a surprise. Drawing the wagon, the old white horse came into view, but
the person on the wagon-seat was not Carl. Instead, it was a fat,
placid, moon-faced man, who was smoking a huge crooked pipe.
“Hang it!” growled Sile, halting abruptly. “It’s the old Dutchman
himself!”
“How you vas, poys?” gurgled Herman Duckelstein, without offering to
step down from the wagon. “You can took dose thing vot I haf prought;
undt I vill aroundt turn. A crate hurry I vas in.”
“Huh!” exploded Sile. “Where’s that boy of yourn?”
“My poy? He didn’t not came.”
“Yes, I notice it. Why didn’t he come?”
“Maype he vas busy py something else. Yah. Vas it disappointment dot he
didt not come?”
“Yes, a great disappointment,” rasped Sile. “I’m mighty sorry not to see
him this morning.”
“You seem to like my poy, Carl, ain’t it? You seem to enchoy his
companies vhen he comes to seen you, no? Vot vas der matter py your
face?”
Sile ignored the question. “I kinder hope you’ll send Carl tomorrer
morning, Mr. Duckelstein,” he said. “Yeou’re right abaout aour enjoyin’
his company.”
“Carl toldt me dot an eel didt catch him here,” said Duckelstein, a
suspicious twinkle in his eyes. “Didt you at him laugh undt good sports
have vhen dot eel caught him?”
“Well,” admitted Sile, grinning a little, “yeou see we couldn’t help
laffin’, considerin’ the fact that it wa’n’t no eel, only an old root
that got ketched on his line.”
“Vas dot correction?” said Duckelstein soberly. “Maype dot poy didt not
toldt me dot. Maype he toldt me dot he peen afraidt der eels vas vaiting
in der voods aroundt here to chump at him undt give him a pites. Didt
you nefer see anythings around here dot at you chumped undt gafe you a
pite, no?”
In spite of his efforts to refrain, Springer suddenly giggled outright,
which caused Sile to flush painfully and frown in a forbidding way.
“Yeou’ve got a purty smart boy, mister,” growled Crane. “Anyhaow, I
s’pose he thinks he’s smart.”
“Vale, maype,” beamed the Dutch farmer, “he iss not a fool so pig as
somepody took him to be. Sometimes he peen carelessness undt forgetful.
I peliefe vhen he vas here der last times a tin pail forgot him, mit a
cover undt a strap to holdt on dot cover vhen dere vas in der pail
somethings dot Carl didt not vant to out come. Uf you didt not
objections, I vill avay took dot pail, pecause maype Carl vould like to
use him again. Yah.”
And now Grant laughed aloud. “There’s the pail and strap yonder on the
ground, Mr. Duckelstein,” he said. “We sure don’t want any property that
doesn’t belong to us.”
“That’s right,” said Crane. “Take yeour dratted old pail.”
“Maype you didt not a choke enchoy vhen it vas yourself on,” said
Duckelstein, in a manner of mild reproof. “Dot is der vay uf some
peoples. It is crate fun vhen der choke vas somepody else on, but vhen
it home comes dot makes a tifference. Over think dot a little, my poy.
Uf you couldt not a choke stood yourself on, don’t play him somepody
else on, pecause you couldt not tell vhen dot other feller vill pack get
at you a choke vot iss petter as der vun you didt up think yourself.”
Silenced, Crane retreated to think it over. He was still thinking some
time after Mr. Duckelstein had departed. Finally he looked up, a slow
grin creeping over his face.
“I guess that old Dutchman is abaout right,” he nodded; “a feller that
can’t take a joke hadn’t better be playin’ ’em on other folks.
Furthermore, yeou can’t never be sure that the dumb duffer yeou’re
havin’ fun with ain’t got a knockout come-back hid up his sleeve. Guess
I’ll forgit it and try to show that I ain’t a squealer. Maybe I won’t
hug that Dutch boy when I see him, but, anyhaow, I’ll agree not to hand
him a wallopin’.”