“Soup and Taters.”
“Aren’t aboard,” growled several voices in chorus. “I’m ’fraid the Soup and Taters is done, sir,” said Tom Fillot in a low voice.
“Oh, man, man, how can you try to joke at a time like this!” cried Mark, angrily.
“’Tarn’t no joke, sir,” cried Tom Fillot. “I’m sorry as you are, for they were getting to be two good messmates. They’d on’y got minds like a couple o’ boys, but the way in which they took to their chew o’ ’baccy was wonderful to behold.”
“The men must have overlooked them,” cried Mark. “They were below asleep.”
“Nay, sir, they didn’t care to go below. They was both asleep curled up forrard under the bulwarks. They’d had so much being below, that they shied at going down a hatchway.”
“Then what do you think about them, Tom?” cried Mark, excitedly.
There was no reply.
“Why don’t you answer, man?”
“Didn’t like to tell you, sir,” said Tom Fillot, quietly.