“Black fellow eat plenty snakum. Jackum eat plenty now. Sit alonga self.”
A few minutes later he was happily sitting on the deck by the galley “alonga self,” eating half the overdone bird which Bostock had given him, while the old sailor had roughly prepared the most tempting part for his young companion and taken it to the saloon skylight.
“Here you are, Master Carey,” he said. “Brought your coals. How’s the king?”
“I have heard him groan several times.”
“That’s because he’s low-sperrited, sir, because he didn’t quite mumkull me and the doctor. But I say, sir, he’s a long time blowing up the ship. Got it, sir? That’s right! You’d better eat it in the dark, for fear he might crawl up a few steps if he saw a light, and want to pass the time practising his shooting. Now, no gammon, sir.”
“What do you mean, Bob?”
“You’ll eat that bit?”
“I don’t feel as if I can.”
“But you must, dear lad. It’s to make you strong to help the doctor, and mebbe to shoot straight again’ Old King Cole.”
“I will eat it, Bob.”