"In your breeches," said Ralph, sharply.
"That's first class," said he, and with Ralph's assistance they were stowed in the part of his wearing apparel where there was an abundance of room generously supplied by the tailor. They had not gone many yards when the mate showed evidences of discomfort. He was obviously suffering pain. The two escorts were by this time in kinks with laughter. Ralph asked his mate what was the matter with him.
"Matter?" said the mate, "why, the blooming things are biting me to pieces."
"Let the beasts bite," said Ralph coolly; "you cannot have them there without them doing something, you darned fool! How do you expect to get past the sentry if you go on like that? Buck up and bear it."
At this point the cock gave an unnatural guttural cry. Ralph exhorted his companion to keep the thing quiet. He replied he couldn't, and that he would stand it no longer.
"Well," said Ralph, "if you won't stand it you won't have fowl for breakfast."
"Oh, darn the breakfast! I must let them go. Help me to unbutton, for if I move they'll go mad again."
The birds were taken from their concealment. Ralph secured two, twisted their necks, stuffed one into his own nether garment, and informed the mate that he should have adopted this plan of quietening them at first.
"Here," said he, passing him the other dead hen, "two makes it far over bulky; you stow it away in yours."
"No fear," said Mr Munroe, "I'll never touch or eat a bit of fowl again as long as I live. My sufferings are too great."