"Dat dinner am fust-class," cried Jeff. "I ain't gwine to stand yere an' see you growlin' at it."
"It certainly tastes a bit off, Jeff," put in Jack Wilbur. "Taste it yourself."
The cook did so, and his face looked doubtful for a moment.
"Guess dat needs a little salt an' pepper," he said, slowly. It did not taste nearly as good as he had anticipated.
As there was nothing else to do, and they were hungry, the men ate the meal, grumbling to themselves as they did so. Luke said but little and ate sparingly, and his example was followed by Cal Vincent.
The captain, Grandon, and Larry ate in the cabin and the dinner served to them was first-class in every particular.
"Guess Jeff is spreading himself, just to show what he can do," remarked Larry to the first mate, after he had finished his repast.
"It's very good, Larry," answered Tom Grandon.
By the middle of the afternoon three of the men were complaining of feeling sick and all attributed their ailments to what they had eaten for dinner.
"Ha! vat I tole you?" cried Semmel. "Didn't I say de grub vos pad? Not maybe you belief me, hey?"