Fitz had just finished his semi-apology when the fastening of the door
clicked softly; it was pushed, and a peculiar-looking, shaggy head was
thrust in. The hair was of a rusty sandy colour, a shade lighter than
the deeply-tanned face, while a perpetual grin parted the owner's lips
as if he were proud to show his teeth, though, truth to tell, there was
nothing to be proud of unless it was their bad shape and size. But the
most striking features were the eyes, which somehow or another possessed
a fiery reddish tinge, and added a certain fierceness to a physiognomy
which would otherwise have been very weak.
Fitz started at the apparition.
"The impertinence!" he muttered. "Here, I say," he shouted now, "who
are you?"
"Who am I, laddie?" came in a harsh voice. "Ye ken I'm the cook."
"And what do you want here, sir? Laddie, indeed! Why didn't you
knock?"
"Knock!" said the man, staring, as he came right in.
"I didna come to knock: just to give you the word that it's all hot and
ready now."
"What's hot and ready?"
"The few broth I've got for you. Ye didna want to be taking doctor's
wash now, but good, strong meaty stuff to build up your flesh and
bones."
Fitz stared.
"Look here, you, Poole Reed; what does this man mean by coming into my
cabin like this? Is he mad?"
"No, no," said Poole, laughing. "It's all right; I'd forgotten. He
asked me if he hadn't better bring you something every day now for a bit
of lunch. It's all right, Andy. Mr Burnett's quite ready. Go and
fetch it."
The man nodded, grinned, in no wise hurt by his reception, and backed
out again.
"Rum-looking fellow, isn't he, Mr Burnett?"
"Disgusting-looking person for a cook. Can anybody eat what he
prepares?"
"We do," said Poole quietly. "Oh, he keeps his galley beautifully
clean, does Andy Campbell--Cawmell, he calls himself, and the lads
always call him the Camel. And he works quite as hard."
He had only just spoken when the man returned on the tips of his bare
toes, looking, for all the world, like the ordinary able seaman from a
man-of-war. He bore no tray, napkin, and little tureen, but just an
ordinary ship's basin in one hand, a spoon in the other, and carefully
balanced himself as he entered the cabin, swaying himself with the basin
so that a drop should not go over the side.
"There y'are, me puir laddie. Ye'll just soop that up before I come
back for the bowl. There's pepper and salt in, and just a wee bit onion
to make it taste. All made out of good beef, and joost the pheesic to
make you strong."
"Give it to me, Andy," cried Poole, and the man placed it in his hands,
smiled and nodded at the prisoner, and then backed out with his knees
very much bent.
Poole stood stirring the broth in the basin slowly round and round, and
spreading a peculiar vulgar odour which at first filled the invalid with
annoyance; but as it pervaded the place it somehow began to have a
decided effect upon the boy's olfactory nerves and excited within him a
strange yearning which drove away every token of disgust.
"It's too hot to give you yet," said Poole quietly. "You must wait a
few minutes."
Fitz's first idea had been that he would not condescend to touch what he
was ready to dub "a mess." It looked objectionable, being of a strange
colour and the surface dotted with yellowish spots of molten fat, while
mingled with them were strange streaky pieces of divided onion. But
animal food had for many days been a stranger to the sick lad's lips--
and then there was the smell which rapidly became to the boy's nostrils
a most fascinating perfume. So that it was in a softened tone that he
spoke next, as he watched the slow passage round and round of the big
metal spoon.
"It doesn't look nice," he said.
"No. Ship's soup never does," replied Poole, "but the proof of the
pudding is in the eating, you know. The Camel's about right, though.
This is the best physic you can have. Will you try it now?"
This was an attack that the boy could not stand. He wanted to say No,
with a gesture of disgust, but Nature would not let him then.
"I dunno," he said dubiously. "Did he make it?"
"Of course."
"But he looks like a common sailor; not a bit like a cook."
"He is a foremast-man, and takes his turn at everything, like the rest;
but he does all the cooking just the same."
"But is he really clean?"
"He made all those bread-cakes you have eaten," was the reply.
"Oh," said Fitz quickly, for the soup smelt aggravatingly nice. "Would
you mind tasting it?"
Poole raised the spoon to his lips, and replaced it.
"Splendid," he said. "You try."
He carefully placed the basin in his patient's lap, with the spoon ready
to his hand, and drew back, watching the peculiar curl at the corners of
the boy's lips as he slowly passed the spoon round and then raised it to
his mouth.
A few seconds later the spoon went round the basin again and was
followed by an audible sip, on hearing which Poole went to the window,
thrust out his head, and began to whistle, keeping up his tune as if he
were playing orchestra to a banquet, while he watched the dart and
splash of a fish from time to time about the surface, and the shadowy
shapes of others deep down below the schooner's stern-post, clearly
enough seen in the crystal sunlit water set a-ripple by the gentle
gliding through it of the vessel's keel.
After waiting what he considered a sufficient time, Poole said loudly,
without turning round--
"There's plenty of fish in sight."
But there was no reply, and he waited again until in due time he heard a
sharp click as of metal against crockery which was followed by a deep
sigh, and then the lad turned slowly, to see the midshipman leaning back
in the berth with his hands behind his head, the empty basin and spoon
resting in his lap.
Poole Reed did not say what he would have liked, neither was there any
sound of triumph in his voice. He merely removed the empty vessel and
asked a question--
"Was it decent?"
And Fitz forgot himself. For the moment all his irritability seemed
gone, and the natural boy came to the surface.
"Splendid!" he cried. "I never enjoyed anything so much before in my
life."
And all that about a dingy basin of soup with fragments of onion and
spots of fat floating therein. But it was the first real meal of
returning health.