“Hang it all, where is there a knife?” he muttered. “One can’t cut beef or mutton without a knife. ’Tisn’t even as if one had got one’s sword. Here—I know.”
He seized the pheasant.
“Humph! too much for a boy. Don’t know, though; dare say he could finish it. Wouldn’t do him good. I’ll—that’s it.”
He took hold of one leg, and holding the bird down, pulled off one of its joints; then another; after which he placed the pair of legs thoughtfully on the plate.
“May as well give him a wing too,” he said; and seizing the one having the liver, he was in the act of tearing it off, when an exclamation behind made him start round and face the captain.
“My dear Tom!” exclaimed the latter. “Why, my dear boy, didn’t you speak, and so have ordered a supper-tray?”
“But you seem to be hungry too,” growled the admiral, pointing with the wing he had now torn-off at a plate and knife and fork his brother carried.
“Eh? yes,” said the captain, starting and looking conscious. “I—er—that is—”
“Why, Harry!” exclaimed Sir Thomas.
“Tom!” cried the captain. “You don’t mean that you have come down to—”