So saying, he led the way to the aftermost mess on the port side of the ship.
Its number was ‘52,’ near at hand to the office of the ship’s police, and adjoining the entry-port where we had come on board that morning, and on reaching it we were directed to seat ourselves at the table, one of the oldsters being ‘told off’ to look after us, and supply our wants as soon as the boatswain’s pipe was heard; when some six hundred and fifty odd boys came tumbling down the hatchways from ‘divisions’ on the upper deck, diving below, to their dinners on the lower.
“You’re in luck, my lads,” said patronisingly the first-class boy, with a double stripe on his arm, who had been deputed to fetch our food, we having no cook or captain of our mess appointed yet. “Not many gits sich a chance on first j’ining!”
“Why?” asked I—“how’s that?”
“It’s pay-day to-day, being Thursday; and so you’ll have roast mutton and gammy duff for dinner, let alone your pay, mate.”
“I don’t fancy any of us will get fat on our pay,” said I, with a grin, in response to his chaff. “But, what’s ‘gammy duff’—I never heard tell of such a thing before?”
“Plum puddin’, with raisins in it, stoopid,” he quickly sang out, we darting off, on catching sight of our friend the ship’s corporal, who just then popped his head out of the office to see how we were getting on. “I means a puddin’, Johnny Green, with as many ‘gammies’ as the boys don’t ‘sneak’ when the cook’s working up the duff!”