“Yes,” said the man of physic, wiping the sweat off his brow. “I’m all ready if the pudding is.”
“The cook’s waiting, sir,” said the steward, who was trying to steady himself by keeping firm hold of the mizen rigging.
“Well, here’s for off,” said the surgeon, getting up.
“Do your duty like a man,” cried the captain, laughing, as the doctor went staggering forward. “And keep to your legs, doctor, keep to your legs.”
There was silence now around the table for many long anxious minutes.
It was a solemn time. There was nothing to be heard but the throb-throb of the engines—the beating of the ship’s great heart.
Would the doctor and his party succeed in landing the pudding aft? That was the great question for the time being, which every one was asking himself. Would the pudding arrive in safety?
Every eye was turned forward.
Behold, they come. Their heads are already above the fore hatch. Slowly they emerge, and stand for a moment swaying hither and thither. The doctor heads the procession. The cook himself brings up the rear. Now the doctor’s voice is heard.
“Are you all ready again, men?”