"I defy any fellow to dispute me on that point." "And then you wet the bull-head and roll him in corn meal, next dropping him into the pan and frying him to a fine brown," Dick supplemented.
"But we haven't any corn meal," objected Hazy.
"Yes, we have," Prescott corrected.

"I saw to that last night.
You fellows jump in and clean these fish, fast, while I get out the corn meal and put a pan on the fire." These boys knew much more about cooking than falls to most boys in their teens.

Frequent camping since their good old days in Central Grammar School had made them able to cook like veteran woodsmen.
Within two minutes, fat was sputtering in a hot pan, and Dick was shaking corn meal onto a plate.
"Bring 'em up!" he ordered.

"We'll start this thing going." Twenty minutes later, using two pans, all the bull-heads had been cooked, and now lay on platters in the oven of the stove.
"Three apiece, and one left over," Greg discovered.

"Who gets the odd one ?" "Shame on you!" muttered Reade.