“How big was it, Bob?” said Carey, triumphantly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t like to say, sir. I’ve seen a lot of ’em in my time—Africa, Indy, and in Chinee waters, as well as off the east coast yonder; but I should think this must be all you said. P’raps more.”
Satisfied with the day’s adventures, they now made for the raft, and were soon after sailing slowly across to the stranded vessel, where that evening Bostock was in his glory with the cook’s stove sending up a cloud of black smoke, and saucepan and frying-pan were well occupied in the preparation of soup and fish.
“The pigeons’ll have to stay till to-morrow, Master Carey,” he said, confidentially. “But I say, sir, don’t say as that hyster soup aren’t good.”
The lad did not. In fact he was helped twice, while the doctor sent a thrill of pride through the old sailor as he made comparisons between it and turtle.
“Well, no, sir,” said the old fellow, modestly, “not so good as that. I dessay, though, we shall find some turtle floating in this lagoon. If we do we must get one, and then you shall see the difference.”
“Do you think they are likely to be about these shores?”
“Sure to be, sir. We shall see one, I dessay, floating on the water, fast asleep; and I dessay we shall find something else, Master Carey, and if we do, look out.”
“What for?”
“Sea-serpents, sir. I’ve seen ’em.”