“Why, the tins were wet and sticky!” cried the cook.
“Course they was, mate; I had to be in such a hurry for fear of your coming back.”
“And I couldn’t make out about that pan.”
“Hadn’t time to wash it, messmate.”
“Then I gave the lads down below the soup the cabin was to have had?”
“You did.”
“And them in the cabin the soup and kangaroo they’d physicked?”
“That’s so, matey, and their games are over again. You’ll jyne us, won’t you?”
“I? Join you?” faltered the cook, looking across at me; “here, what are you going to do?”
“Let the lads out again. It’s their turn now.”