“I thought dissolved in water,” replied Mr Frewen.
“Two objections to that,” said Mr Denning; “the stuff would make it taste, and in all probability some of the men would not take it.”
“I’ll answer for it that Jarette would not touch water,” cried Mr Brymer, “so that plan will not do. You can’t give it to him with biscuits. Yes, what’s the matter?” he cried, for there was a loud rapping at the entrance to the saloon.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said Bob Hampton’s voice, “here’s a deppytation from the chaps in the forksle.”
“What?” cried Mr Brymer, in alarm, “are they out?”
“No, sir, not they. One of ’em’s got up into the hatchway as spokesman, and he’s been giving us a bit of his mind.”
“What does he say?”
“Says as he wants to know whether you mean to starve ’em out; as they’ve on’y had some water and biscuit for twenty-four hours, and that if you don’t send ’em some grub, they’ll set fire to the ship, for they’d sooner be roasted than starved.”
“All right, Hampton; go back and tell them that we will see what can be done, but that if they fire another shot they shall not have a biscuit.”
“Right, sir,” growled Hampton, and he turned upon his heel and went back, while Mr Brymer exclaimed in an excited whisper—