“I tell you what, though,” said Fitz. “We shall be going for hours and hours without getting anything, and that’ll make us done up and weak. I vote that as we are to do as we like, we go and stir up the Camel and tell him to send us in a nice meal to the cabin.”
“But it isn’t long since we had something,” suggested Poole.
“Yes, but neither of us could eat nor enjoy it. I couldn’t, and I was watching you; but I feel that I could eat now, so come on. It’ll help to pass the time, and make us fit to do anything.”
“All right,” said Poole, and they fetched Andy from where he was sitting forward talking in whispers with his messmates, told him what they wanted, and ordered him to prepare a sort of tea-supper for the little crew of the gig.
The Camel was ready enough, and within half-an-hour the two lads were doing what Poole termed stowing cargo, the said cargo consisting of rashers of prime fried ham, cold bread-cake, hot coffee and preserved milk.
They did good justice to the meal too, and before they had ended the skipper came down to them, looked on for a minute or two, and then nodded his satisfaction.
“That looks well, my lads,” he said. “It’s business-like, and as if your hearts were so much in your work that you didn’t feel disposed to shirk it. It makes me comfortable, for I was getting a little nervous about you, I must own.”
The boys exchanged glances, but said nothing.
“Here, don’t mind me,” continued the skipper. “Make a good hearty meal, and I’ll talk to you as you eat.”
“About our going and what we are about to do, father?” said Poole.