“How?” I said, laughing, as I thought of Bob’s low estimate of his fighting powers.
“Lot of ways, my lad. Cook’s got a good many advantages, you see. Red-hot pokers is one; pots and kettles o’ boiling water’s another, without counting the long sharp knives; but he won’t do nothing, and I must. Don’t walk too near the wild beasts’ cage, my lad, I’m going aft.”
He went steadily aft to mount the poop-deck, while being near the galley I strolled towards it to have a few words with the man of suet, and as he welcomed me with a simple placid smile, I felt that Bob Hampton’s estimate of his character was pretty correct, and that it would be bad policy to trust much to him in a time of peril.
“Well,” I said, “been to the captain?”
“Yes, Mr Dale, sir, and have taken him a beautiful basin of broth. Let me give you one.”
“No, not now,” I said, though I felt tempted to say yes. “Did you take Mr Walters his provisions?”
“I did, sir, with Mr Brymer looking on all the time.”
“Does he seem very bad?”
“Well, sir, he pulled a long face, but I don’t think there’s much the matter with him. He can eat readily enough.”
“I say, cook,” I half whispered, “you were a good deal on deck?”