The boys looked up in dismay but were reassured by Mr. Wallace's smile and John's ever present grin. Burt put the question to the latter.
"Palm-oil chop, sar! Chicken chop-chop, palm-oil, peppers, hother t'ings halso, sar. Hit be good."
The boys cautiously sampled the concoction and found it to be new but not unpleasant. Before they had been in the country another week they were vociferously demanding palm-oil chop from John every day. The launch tied up at a plantation dock for the night and at daylight proceeded on her way.
"Hello!" exclaimed Critch as he emerged from the tiny cabin for breakfast. "That's funny! Thought it was in my outside pocket."
"What's bitin' you?" asked Burt with a rather sickly smile. He also was fishing in his pockets.
"My compass—it's gone!"
"Same here," confessed Burt after a moment. "I'll be jiggered! My coin's all right!"
"What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Wallace. He was just coming out and behind him was Captain Mac. The boys explained their strange loss and Montenay frowned.
"That's queer," he said thoughtfully. "Mine's safe. How's yours, Wallace?"
"Here." Mr. Wallace produced his own silver-set compass from an inner pocket. "You've probably dropped 'em around the cabin, boys."