Upon this an adjournment took place sine die, and the meeting retired to the scene of labor.
About a gallon of molasses was procured. This was poured into an iron pot, and Phil stationed himself at his post in the galley. The fire was supplied with fresh fuel, and soon the liquid began to boil. Phil stirred away like a good fellow, and the liquid began to froth up. Phil tried to keep it down, so that it might not boil over. For some time there was a desperate struggle between Phil and the molasses. The boys stood crowding around, watching that struggle with intense interest and keen excitement. None of them offered to make a suggestion, for it was felt that any offer of advice would be derogatory to the dignity of Phil’s office.
So the struggle went on.
It grew fiercer and fiercer every moment.
Now the molasses rose up in wrath and fury, and seemed about to rush forth from its iron prison.
Now Phil, summoning all his energy, dealt a series of destructive blows at his furious enemy, and laid him low for a time.
So went the struggle. Now the molasses gained, now Phil.
But all the time the molasses was increasing in fury.
The boys stood about. They formed themselves into two parties, one embracing the cause of the molasses, the other that of Phil. Cheer after cheer arose as one or the other saw its cause in the ascendant.
Phil grew weaker and fainter.