“Hotter than this?” said the first-mate with an assumed look of astonishment. “Do you hear him, Morgan? He calls it hot!”
“I say, captain,” said the major, “how long’s this calm going to last?”
“Impossible to say,” said the captain. “I am hoping for a fresh breeze at sundown, but I dare not prophesy.”
“Well, then, let’s have the boat out and manned, and two or three of us go ashore with our guns, to see if we can’t shoot something.”
The captain hesitated, looked at the sky, at the offing, studied his glass, and then said that there was no prospect of wind before night, and if the major liked, they would make up a little party and go.
“We can get some handsome birds for specimens if we get none for food,” said the major, “and perhaps we may get hold of a snake, or a big lizard, to make into a stew.”
“Stewed lizard! Ugh!” ejaculated Mark.
“And why not, young fellow?” cried the major. “Once upon a time, as the geologists tell us, the lizard and the fowl were very much alike, only they divided, and while one went on growing more like a bird, the other lost his wings and the feathers in his tail, and ran more upon the ground. Now, I’ll be bound to say, sir, that if I shot a lizard, an iguana, or something of that kind, and made it into a curry, you would not be able to tell the difference. Come, captain.”
“Oh, I’m not coming,” said the captain. “I shall stay aboard and look after my two wives—Mark’s mother and the ship. You youngsters can go and enjoy yourselves. You’ll go with them, Gregory.”
“No, no, I’ll stop with the ship,” said the first-mate.