"It seems rather hard-hearted to make them into a soup," he observed, "when they sing all the time like that."
The Captain was not troubled by the song of the clams, however.
"Here, Jimmy," he said, "you take the wheel while I shuck them clams."
"Do what to 'em?" asked Mr. Daddles.
"Shuck 'em," the Captain replied.
Mr. Daddles still looked puzzled.
"Take 'em out of the shells," explained Jimmy.
While the Captain worked over the clams, he had an oil-stove lighted down in the cabin, and he tried out some pork. Ed Mason hunted up a pail of fresh milk and some crackers, while I washed and peeled the potatoes. In about half an hour the dinner was ready. The Captain brought up the steaming kettle of chowder, and from it we filled our bowls. We also had coffee and bread and butter, and some of the mince turnovers which Ed Mason had brought. Then we remembered the water-melon.
"Don't think 'twill give yer the stomach-ache, do yer?" asked the Captain, as he prepared to cut the melon. "You remember how it killed one of them Black Pedros, don't yer?"
We all voted that it could not possibly give us the stomach-ache. And it didn't. Then we drew lots to see who would have the unpleasant job of washing the dishes. Ed Mason and I lost, and retired below to do the work. We could hear them talking on deck. Jimmy was still at the wheel; the Captain and Mr. Daddles lighted their pipes.