"There lies Cuba!"
"Good!" exclaimed Dick. "Now, we'll see what happens."
They at once got ready for a landing, though it would not be for some hours yet. Every one on the yacht, though the voyage had been most pleasant, was glad of the prospective change. Hans, the cook, got up a specially fine dinner in honor of the occasion.
"Haven't you anything for Grit and the puppy, Hans?" asked Dick, as he passed the galley. "They're both hungry."
"Sure, I feeds 'em," answered the German, who was cutting up some meat from pieces brought from the refrigerator, for the Albatross was fitted up with an artificial ice-making machine. "I gifs dem some nice bieces of meat," went on Hans.
A few minutes after this the young millionaire was startled to hear snarls, growls and barks coming from the direction of the galley, while, mingled with the noise made by the dogs was the voice of the cook crying:
"Don't! Stop I dells you, Grit! Behafe yourself alretty now! I did not mean to onsuld you. I—I—Oh, Herr Hamilton! Come quick alretty yet! Your bulldog will devour me! Oh! Ouch!"
A moment later a very much frightened German cook burst out on the deck. He was carrying a plate of meat-scraps, and behind him, growling and snarling, came Grit, his legs working in and out like the pistons of a steam engine. But, as the animal's legs were short, and as the cook had long ones, the race might not prove so unequal.
"What's the matter?" cried Dick. "Stand still, Hans! Grit won't hurt you!"
"He vunt; hey?" cried the German. "Vell, I ain't goin' to take no chances—no, sir, Herr Hamilton! I runs; dot's vot I do! Stop chasin' me!" the cook cried, turning to glance at Grit. But this nearly proved disastrous for him, as he stumbled over a rope, and only recovered himself as Grit almost reached him.