“I don’t believe you will get any. If you hook one you’ll knock it off in pulling it in. Why don’t you bring the poor lad up on deck and let him fish like a human being, not keep him cuddled up below there like a great gal?”
“But he’s so weak, he can hardly stand.”
“Set him down, then, in a cheer. Do him good, and he’ll like it all the more.”
“Well, I never thought of that,” said Poole eagerly. “I will. But oh, I mustn’t forget the bait. I must go and see the Camel.”
“Nonsense! Bait with a lask cut off from the first fish you catch.”
“Of course,” cried Poole; “but how am I to catch that first one first?”
“’M, yes,” said the boatswain, with a grim smile. “Tell you what; go and ask the Camel to give you a nice long strip of salt pork, fat and rind.”
“Ah, that would do,” cried Poole; and he hurried off to the galley, where he was welcomed by the cook with a nod and wink, as he drew a little stew-pan forward on the hot plate, and lifted the lid.
“Joost cast your nose over that, laddie,” he whispered mysteriously.
“Eh? What for?”