They had plenty of tea and coffee, however, and a daily allowance of lime-juice.
Then Saturday nights were kept up in quite the old-fashioned and pleasant way, and the main-brace was invariably spliced.
Song succeeded song on these happy occasions, and many a toast was drunk to the health of the dear ones far away on Britain's shore.
Nor was dancing neglected, the consequence being that fiddle, guitar, and clarionet were in great request. As usual, little Johnnie Shingles and that droll penguin, dressed as a merry old lady, or sometimes as a modest wee maiden of sweet sixteen, convulsed the onlookers with their droll antics as they sailed around in the mazy dance.
But the monkey one evening did not see why he should not also have a waltz with Madam Pen.
"Yah--yah--yah!" he cried, as he approached her most coaxingly.
This was much as to say: "It is our dance, I believe, miss."
He attempted to take hold of Pen's flippers in the meanwhile, and was rewarded with a dig between the eyes that sent him reeling back, and so Jim made no more offers to trip it on the light fantastic toe with Madam Pen, on this evening or any other. In fact, he used to content himself with lying in front of the fire with one of Vike's huge paws round his neck.
When Pen pecked the monkey he made an ugly scar, but poor kind-hearted Vike licked it every day several times with his soft warm tongue, and so it soon healed up.
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