The gunner sniffed scornfully at his.
“Hominy stirabout, as I’m a living sinner!” he ejaculated; “and flavoured with rancid butter.”
“A villanous compound, but not bad at the price,” I said, trying to put a good face upon the matter.
Ned made no observations, but was already half-way through his portion.
When he had completely emptied his basin, he placed it carefully on the deck beside him, wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jumper, and remarked sententiously,—
“Must keep body and soul together somehow. Don’t you sniff at yer wittles, Mr. Triggs, or maybe the swabs’ll put you on half-rations!”
I managed to swallow a few mouthfuls; but it really was a villanous compound, and I could get no further.
“I suppose there ain’t no chance of getting soap and water out of these thunderin’ thieves,” said Ned, glancing at his grimy hands; “’tain’t in their line, as you may say.”
“I’m afraid not,” said I; “but we can ask the mule-driver next time we see him.”
At this very moment the subject of our conversation came down the ladder, and approached us with the object of removing our porridge-basins. I noticed that he glanced in a furtive, underhand manner at Ned Burton.