“And make bread cakes.”
“Why, Brace, we shall be in clover,” said Sir Humphrey, laughing.
“But he has his faults, sir,” said the captain solemnly.
“All cooks have,” said Sir Humphrey, smiling. “What is his worst?”
“His plum-duff isn’t fit to give a pig.”
“Is it like the one of which the passenger complained?” said Brace, laughing.
“Eh? I dunno,” said the skipper, staring. “I don’t know that I ever heard of that one. What sort of a pudding was that?”
“It must have been worse than your cook’s, for the passenger said he did not mind putting up with flies for currants, but when it came to cockroaches for raisins he felt bound to strike.”
The skipper screwed his face up till there were so many wrinkles that there did not seem to be room for another.
“No,” he said, “my cook’s plum-duff was never so bad as that, squire; but there’s no knowing what may happen. If it ever does get so bad you and me’ll drop him overboard. Now then, gentlemen, like to see the men’s quarters?”