“Beans, bacon, potatoes, bread, condensed milk, coffee, tea, butter, canned peas and tomatoes, stewed apricots—”
Chub groaned.
“No more, I beg of you! I’m going to look at the map, fellows, and if there’s a place we can reach by seven o’clock where we can buy a good meal, we’ll go there, rain or no rain! What my soul demands is a course dinner, with clams, soup, fish, roast, game, salad—” The rest was lost, for he had disappeared up the iron stairway to the wheel-house. Dick laid down his book again.
“I think I could stand a few of those things myself,” he said wistfully.
“So could I,” said Roy. “You’ve done mighty well, old chap, with what you’ve had to cook, but there’s nothing like an occasional change. It would be jolly if we could find a hotel, wouldn’t it? One of those swell summer resort places where they have ten courses and four kinds of dessert. What about it, Chub?”
“All aboard for The Overlook,” answered Chub gayly as he came down the steps. “It’s only seven miles up on the other shore. Shall we start now?”
