“What’s that for, Gilbert?” asked Ross Ainley, in surprise, as his chum, Gilbert Eastern, flung an egg into the stream which gurgled past them. “It’s rotten, old chap, rotten as a man’s word of honour,” replied Gilbert. “Thank goodness it’s the last of the batch, and I get no more from Flatters. He assured me he had manufactured every one and all had stood Government tests, therefore he could guarantee them. I don’t want to spoil our little picnic here at the North Pole or I’d go back and make the fellow eat the thing; see, even that fish discards it!” as a fish rose to the surface, nosed the egg a little, and then darted off. “No wonder!” he commented, and then without further remark he re…
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