I felt like saying that an old sailor may be very much like an old woman. However, I graciously told him of the inference I drew from Ohoo’s remarks.
“Fancy Chest,” said Kreelman, “if you live long enough you’ll be a boat-steerer or a lawyer, I don’t know which.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE PRIZE WHALE AND THE RESCUED BOAT
I have said little about the cook, who was so kind to me the first morning at sea. He was always pleasant and obliging, and he used to say that he only regretted that he couldn’t prepare for me some nice little bits like those my mother used to cook for me at home. One day I said to him:
“Why is it that you scrape out the plates so carefully and then put the scrapings into a big cask? Why don’t you throw them overboard?”
“Because I’m a money getter. Don’t you know what slush is? Why, it’s the scrapings of the plates. I’ve heard it said that they use it on some ships to slush the masts with. Not on this vessel—worth too much. I put it in casks and there it stays till end of the voyage. It don’t rot, gets sweeter all the time. When voyage is over, sold to be made over, and out comes beautiful, rich lard. Goes to the best restaurants and brings big prices. I get my lay in the slush.”
“I never heard of such a thing,” I declared.
“I make out of it in another way,” he continued.
“How’s that?”
“Why, I scrape the plates so carefully that often they don’t need washin’; so I save labor.”