Mark obeyed, and there was a steaming dish of fried steak and onions, looking tempting in the extreme.
“Now, then, will you carve or be old woman?”
“I—I’ll carve,” said Mark, for though he had a suspicion that to be old woman meant pouring out the tea, he was not sure.
“Go ahead, then, my lad. Plates hot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s your style. Don’t be afraid of the onions. No ladies aboard.”
Mark helped the steak, and the mate poured out the tea and hewed a couple of lumps off a cottage-loaf.
“There you are,” he said; “and make much of it. No steaks and new bread at sea.”
“But you’ve plenty of other things, sir.”
“Humph, yes! We manage to live. More sugar?”