“So! But it muss be done. Ach! I am hungry as a—as a—as a——”
“Hunter!” suggested Oliphant.
“No; hungry as a rhinoceros. I could eat—I could eat—I could eat a——”
“Whale!”
“No; I could eat a steak, underdone, from ze grill, viz chip bodadoes, gabbage viz vinegar, and Voosder sauce, viz a long glass—ach! two long glasses, of lager from München. Ach! ze zought of it make my mous cry.”
“For goodness’ sake, Oliphant, give him some grub and shut his mouth,” cried Tom.
“Shut my mous? How zen can I eat? For ze sake of anyzink give me somezink to eat; zen my mous vill shut and open of itself; vun needs not to zink ven one eats.”
Bubbling with amusement, Oliphant handed the German some biscuits from the stock they had brought with them. But his mirth evaporated when he caught sight of Tom’s face. He had wondered a little at the tetchy tone in which Tom had last addressed him, and from his anxious expression he could not but guess that something was seriously wrong.
“The engines—don’t you smell ’em?”