"Guess we'll call her the Albatross II," said Dick, and that name was selected.
It was now time for the scanty dinner, which was all that could be served, for rations were scarce, when Beeby came panting from the woods, and dashed down the beach toward his companions, w^ho were grouped around Dick.
"I got 'em!" he cried. "I got 'em!"
"Got what?" asked the young millionaire, anxiously.
"A whole lot of birds! They're like chickens, nice, and plump, and fat! I got 'em. I sneaked up on 'em, and they didn't hear me, and I got 'em! They ought to make fine eating!"
"Good for you!" cried Dick. "Like chickens, eh? Well, we'll wait dinner and cook some now, and also take some cooked ones along on the raft. You're all right, Beeby, if you are fat. Where are they, and how many did you kill?"
"Kill? I didn't kill any!" was the surprising answer. "I meant that I snapshotted 'em. I'll make a dandy picture! There must have been a hundred birds! I used my last film on 'em!"
For an instant Dick looked at the fat cadet. The hope that had risen high in all their hearts was rudely dispelled. Beeby gazed about, trying to understand wherein he had offended, for the silence was ominous.
"Throw him down, and stuff sand in his mouth!" cried Dick, at length. "The idea of telling us you have a whole lot of birds like chickens,
