Jonas was just lifting the frying pan from the fire when they slid down
the orange sand bank. The rest of the crew was ready and waiting
around the flat rock that served as dining table.
"What's the matter with your knee, boss?" cried Jonas, standing with
the coffee pot in his hand.
Enoch laughed as he glanced down at his torn and blood-stained
overalls. "Of course, if you were giving me half the care you give
your boat, Jonas, these things wouldn't happen to me!"
"You better let me fix you up, before you eat, boss," said Jonas.
"Not on your life, old man! Food will do this knee more good than a
bandage."
"It's a wonder you wouldn't offer to help the rest of us out once in a
while, Jonas!" Harden looked up from his plate of fish. "Look at this
scratch on my cheek! I might get blood poisoning, but lots you care if
my fatal beauty was destroyed! As it is, I look as much like an inmate
of a menagerie as old goat Forrester here."
"Too bad the scratch didn't injure your tongue, Harden," returned
Forrester, sarcastically.
"Nothing seems able to stop your chin, though, Forr! Why do you have
to get sore every time I speak to you?"
"Because you're always going out of your way to say something insulting
to me.
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