“But the Lord filleth the hungry, we’re told,” said Mrs
Major Negus, who had developed, since landing on the island, what had evidently been a strong religious trait previously dormant in her character, if quoting Scripture texts were any proof of this disposition.
“Ah ma’rm,” responded Mr Lathrope, “don’t you believe it, unless the hungry work for it.”
“And much you’ve done to earn your food!” said the lady tartly.
“Wa-al, ma’rm, if it warn’t for me, as Mr Meldrum here will tell you, I’ve no doubt yer wouldn’t have a chimbley, nor nary fire to sot by inside haar!”
“A fine smoky chimney it is too!” retorted Mrs Major Negus. “It is quite suffocating, I declare.”
“That’s better nor bein’ friz,” said the American, with some little heat. He was rather annoyed at having his special contrivance sneered at, for it was only after repeated attempts and failures that the building party had at last managed to rig up a fireplace against the back wall of the shanty—running up through the roof of the “general” room a chimney-shaft of loosely piled stones, enclosed within a framework of planks to which was nailed on the sea-elephant’s skin in order to prevent the wood from catching fire. This served the purpose of warming the whole of the interior, as the other apartments opened into this room, which indeed also provided the only means of communication with the outside of the hut, the principal and solitary door of the establishment being here.
“I’d sooner be smoked any time fur chice, myself, than friz!” said Mr Lathrope again, as if to provoke his opponent.
“No wonder,” retorted the lady, eager to have the last word, “when you’re at it all day long, smoking your brains out with that vile tobacco!”
“What were you going to say about the provisions, papa?” interposed Kate at this juncture, in order to give a turn to the conversation, which seemed to be getting a trifle too personal between Mr Lathrope and “the Major.”