[CHAPTER V.]
FROM THE “AMAZONIA.”
Benny was astir very early next morning, eager to show the crew of the station that he appreciated to the utmost their generosity in thus giving him a home, and when the men came down to breakfast the cook declared that the boy had performed considerably more than half the work of preparing the meal.
“He’s a handy lad around a kitchen, an’ I’m thinkin’ we’ll be gettin’ the best of the bargain in adoptin’ him, providin’ he holds out as he’s begun,” the cook said confidentially to Sam Hardy, and the latter replied emphatically:
“You mark my words, cookee; he ain’t the kind of a lad who wears out quickly. I’m countin’ on his growin’ better every day, an’ before next winter we’ll make a surfman of him.”
“Now don’t take too many chances, Sam. That little shaver ain’t of the right build to knock around in rough water with the likes of you, an’ there’s too much danger in it for him.”
“I don’t agree with you there, cookee. He’s spry as a kitten, an’ with grit enough to do anything another can.”
“I’ll admit he’d make a try for it; but I don’t want to see him pushed too far.”
Benny’s entrance put an end to the conversation for the time being, and following him, as a matter of course, was Fluff C. Foster, who had become sufficiently well acquainted with the men to greet each in turn by sitting up and barking shrilly as he held out one paw.
Every man shook hands with the little fellow, after which he leaped up into the chair he had occupied the day previous.
“Knows his place like a little gentleman,” Joe Cushing cried in a tone of admiration as he stroked the dog’s silken hair, and Benny said apprehensively: