He looked at the fire, then at the tent; he was not going to spoil it all by burning his tongue.
For years he had never enjoyed fried bananas because he had never been able to wait for them to cool.
His tongue was very sensitive.
He was very hungry.
Across the river in the swamp, in the almost dark, he saw a mist rising.
He looked at the tent once more.
All right.
He took a full spoonful from the plate.
"Chrise," Nick said, "Geezus Chrise," he said happily.
He ate the whole plateful before he remembered the bread.
Nick finished the second plateful with the bread, mopping the plate shiny.
He had not eaten since a cup of coffee and a ham sandwich in the station restaurant at St. Ignace.
It had been a very fine experience.
He had been that hungry before, but had not been able to stand it.
He could have made camp hours before if he had wanted to.
There were plenty of good places to camp on the river.
But this was good.
Nick tucked two big chips of pine under the grill.
The fire flared up.
He had forgotten to get water for the coffee.
Out of the pack he got a folding canvas bucket and walked down the hill, across the edge of the meadow, to the stream.
The other bank was in the white mist.
The grass was wet and cold as he knelt on the bank and dipped the canvas bucket into the stream.
It bellied and pulled held in the current.
The water was ice cold.
Nick rinsed the bucket and carried it full up to the camp.
Up away from the stream it was not so cold.
Nick drove another big nail and hung up the bucket full of water.
He dipped the coffee pot half full, put some more chips under the grill onto the fire and put the pot oil.
He could not remember which way he made coffee.
He could remember an argument about it with Hopkins, but not which side he had taken.
He decided to bring it to a boil.
He remembered now that was Hopkins's way.
He had once argued about everything with Hopkins.
While he waited for the coffee to boil, he opened a small can of apricots.
He liked to open cans.
He emptied the can of apricots out into a tin cup.
While he watched the coffee on the fire, he drank the juice syrup of the apricots, carefully at first to keep from spilling, then meditatively, sucking the apricots down.
They were better than fresh apricots.
The coffee boiled as he watched.
The lid came up and coffee and grounds ran down the side of the pot.
Nick took it off the grill.
It was a triumph for Hopkins.
He put sugar in the empty apricot cup and poured some of the coffee out to cool.
It was too hot to pour and he used his hat to hold the handle of the coffee pot.
He would not let it steep in the pot at all.
Not the first cup.
It should be straight.
Hopkins deserved that.
Hop was a very serious coffee drinker.