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"I'll never forget about those pearrl-bearing mussels as long as I live you can bet!" Tom separated the chicory roots from the stalks and Archer went to wash them in the stream. In a little while he returned with a triumphant smile all over his round, freckled face and half a dozen mussels in his cupped hands. "Now what have you got to say, huh?
"I always said I had no use for geographies except to put mustaches and things on the North Pole explorers and high hats on Columbus and Henry Hudson, but, believe me, I'm glad I remembered about those pearrl-bearing mussels hey, Slady? I hope the Alpine natives don't take it into their heads to come up herre afterr any of 'em just now. I just rooted around in the mud and got 'em.
"I'm glad you said that 'cause it reminds me about the mussels." "The what?" "'The mountain streams abound with the pearrl-bearing mussels which are a staple article of diet with the Alpine natives," quoted Archer in declamatory style. "I had to write that two hundred and fifty times f'rr whittlin' a hole in the desk " "I s'pose you were after a souvenir," said Tom dryly.
Look at my hand, will you?" They made a sumptuous repast of wet, crisp chicory roots and "pearrl-bearing mussels" as Archer insisted upon calling them, although they found no pearls. The meal was refreshing and not half bad.
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