He
looked at it dubiously, and shot a quick glance at her. Then he threw
the sodden thing out of doors and dumped the contents of a sea-biscuit
bag upon a camp cloth. The sea-biscuit had been crumbled into chips
and fragments and generously soaked by the rain till it had become a
mushy, pulpy mass of dirty white.
"It's all I have in the way of bread," he muttered; "but sit down and
we will make the best of it."
"One moment--" And before he could protest, Frona had poured the
sea-biscuit into the frying-pan on top of the grease and bacon. To
this she added a couple of cups of water and stirred briskly over the
fire. When it had sobbed and sighed with the heat for some few
minutes, she sliced up the corned beef and mixed it in with the rest.
And by the time she had seasoned it heavily with salt and black pepper,
a savory steam was rising from the concoction.
"Must say it's pretty good stuff," he said, balancing his plate on his
knee and sampling the mess avidiously. "What do you happen to call it?"
"Slumgullion," she responded curtly, and thereafter the meal went on in
silence.
Frona helped him to the coffee, studying him intently the while. And
not only was it not an unpleasant face, she decided, but it was strong.
Strong, she amended, potentially rather than actually. A student, she
added, for she had seen many students' eyes and knew the lasting
impress of the midnight oil long continued; and his eyes bore the
impress.
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