the juice could he extract. “How is this?” he asked. “How do you get the juice out, father?”
“Think a little,” I replied, “you are quite as capable as I am of finding out the way, even if you do not know the real reason of your failure.”
“Oh, of course,” said he, “it is like trying to suck marrow from a marrow bone, without making a hole at the other end.”
“Quite right,” I said, “you form a vacuum in your mouth and the end of your tube, and expect the air to force down the liquid from the other end which it cannot possible enter.”
Fritz was speedily perfect in the accomplishment of sucking sugar-cane, discovering by experience the necessity for a fresh cut at each joint or knot in the cane, through which the juice could not flow; he talked of the pleasure of initiating his brothers in the art, and of how Ernest would enjoy the cocoa-nut milk, with which he had filled his flask.
“My dear boy,” said I, “you need not have added that to your load; the chances are it is vinegar by the time we get home. In the heat bf the sun, it will ferment soon after being drawn from the nut.”
“Vinegar! Oh, that would be a horrid bore! I must look directly, and see how it is getting on,” cried Fritz, hastily swinging the flask from his shoulder, and tugging out the cork. With a loud “pop” the contents came forth, foaming like champagne.
“There now!” said I, laughing as he tasted this new luxury, “you will have to exercise moderation again, friend Fritz! I daresay it is delicious, but it will go to your head, if you venture deep into your flask.”
“My dear father, you cannot think how good it is! Do take some. Vinegar, indeed! This is like excellent wine.”
We were both invigorated by this unexpected draught, and went on so merrily after it, that the distance to the place where we
