“Never mind, sir,” hastily whispered Dobbs, holding out a gleam of hope, as he thought, “we’ll get some at Plymouth as soon as we anchor in the Sound, sir. You shall get some there, sir, never you fear, sir.”
“Plymouth? Why, I may lose the number of my mess myself long before I ever reach there!” said Tommy, contemptuously. “A caterer who forgets to provide eggs for the mess ought to be keel-hauled! Who is the caterer, steward?”
“Mr Stormcock, sir.”
“Oh, indeed! Stormcock, eh?” repeated little Mills, making me choke with suppressed laughter. “Then you can tell Mister Stormcock, with my compliments, that unless he looks after the mess catering better, he’ll precious soon find himself in foul weather with me!”
“Highty, tighty, my young bantam!” cried out the gentleman in question, the master’s mate, a thick-set, full-grown fellow, old enough to be Tommy’s father, who happened to be stretched at full length on one of the lockers at the further end of the gunroom, and was roused from his nap on hearing his name mentioned. “You seem to have a pretty considerable stock of impudence of your own for so young a shaver, and crow so loudly you must want to have your comb cut, I think!”
“Not to-day, thank you, sir, all the same,” answered Master Tommy, demurely, but with a grimace that made us all laugh. “If I’m a shaver, of course I can cut it myself, can’t I?”
“Hang me, but you are a cheeky young beggar, the cheekiest we have on board, I think, and that’s saying a good deal!” ejaculated the other, utterly dumbfounded at his effrontery. “What are you rowing the poor steward about, eh?”
“Nothing—only I thought we might have had a better spread for breakfast than I see on the table as we’re not yet at sea, that’s all!”
“Oh, that’s all, is it, young gentleman?” cried the master’s mate, not liking to hear his catering criticised so frankly. “I’m sorry you didn’t let us know we had a lord coming aboard; for, if we had heard in time, we’d have hired a French cook and laid in every delicacy you could desire. By jingo! when I was a youngster and joined my ship for the first time, I remember, I was glad enough to get a mouthful of salt junk and hard tack, without any of your bloaters and marmalade and foreign kickshaws—ay, and thought myself doocid lucky, I can tell you, if I didn’t get a thrashing from one of the oldsters in the mess, if I grumbled, to make me relish my grub the better. Things are coming to a pretty pass nowadays for a young jackanapes to growl about his vittles and call his seniors to account!”
“Pardon me, sir, but my name is Tom Mills, not ‘Jack Napes,’” said my cheeky chum, with meek subservience; and, turning then to Dobbs, he called out, “a cup of tea, please, steward, with plenty of milk in it.”