CAMP SCENE. A TROUT BREAKFAST. 43 



at our humble table on the long stout pole which was sup- 

 ported by crotches. Even the Professor was not heavy 

 enough to break that down, although he had a distracting 

 way of smashing nearly every thing he sat upon. 



"Now, boys! I call this a model breakfast," said 

 Thompson, after five minutes of steady eating that forbade 

 speech; " even if I did supervise its construction." 



"You don't mean to claim the credit of this, do you, 

 Thomp. ?" halt indignantly queried Johnson. "Horace 

 i< the pilot that brought this breakfast safe to harbor, 

 you were nothing but a land-lubber passenger." 



"Gentlemen," said the Professor, "Horatius is the 

 genius to \vhom we are indebted for this concatenation of 

 delicious edibles. It was he who, by the wave of his 

 spoon, evoked cosmos from chaos, who " after a mouth- 

 ful, he went on " who transmuted things to be weighed and 

 measured and put into bags and bundles and boxes by the 

 grocer " another mouthful ' ' into "- 



"You'd better bench your craft," broke in Johnson, 

 "for I take it you've got into deep and troubled water and 

 are overloaded with your concatenation' and your 

 'cosmos' and ' transmuted.' Horace can't stand it to 

 have you abuse him in this way. I think, myself, there 

 were never such trout as these, nor boiled potatoes whiter 

 and mealier, nor flap-jacks so big and light, nor maple 

 syrup richer, nor coffee that went straighter to the spot, 

 but I don't quite like to have you lug in your 'cosmos' and 

 'chaos' here." 



"Oh, let him go on," said Benson; "he's compara- 



