"Here," I said, trying to speak merrily, but it was all forced, for I
felt exceedingly nervous. "I was asking you just now what was for
dinner. Here you are--kangaroo-tail for our dinner, and that soup in
the blue tin; and you're to put plenty of water to this other one, and
make a half-bucket-full of soup for the men in the forecastle. How soon
will it be ready?"
"Five minutes. I've plenty of boiling water. Who opened them?"
"We did," I replied. "They are all right, but some of the tins are
going bad."
"Yes; I've had some I was glad to pitch overboard, sir, and if I had my
way I'd make the folks as sells such rubbish for poor sailors eat it
themselves."
"And serve 'em right. You understand you're to keep this one for us,
and get ready the yellow tin?"
"All right, Mr Dale."
"Hulloa, cookie, what's for dinner?" said the man who had just been
relieved from taking his trick at the wheel. "Oh!--didn't know you were
here, sir."
"Chump end of a hurdy-gurdy and organ sauce, messmate," said the cook,
meaning to be very facetious, while I walked out of the galley, passing
the man who had been sitting aft talking to the steersman.
I reported the progress of what I had done to Mr Brymer, and then
waited for further orders.
"I think I'll stand out of this business altogether now, Dale," he said.
"Wait a few minutes and then take one of the men, say Dumlow, and serve
out the stuff to them, passing down a fresh supply of biscuits as well.
What's the matter?"