"What's that about yer feet?" asked the deaf man.
"Not feet—eat—E-A-T. I want to eat," fairly yelled Jack.
"What do you mean by calling me a beat?" angrily rejoined the deaf man.
"I didn't. Oh, Great Scott, everything is going wrong to-day," cried Jack. Then he cupped his hands and fairly screeched in the man's ear.
"Can I buy a meal here?"
A light of understanding broke over the other's face.
"Surely you can," he said. "Araminta—that's my wife—'ull fix up a bite fer yer. Why didn't you say what you wanted in the fust place?"
"I did," howled Jack, crimson in the face by this time; "but you didn't hear me. You are deaf."
"Wa'al, I may be a little hard o' hearing, young feller," admitted the man, "but I hain't deef by a dum sight."
Jack didn't argue the point, but followed him to the house, where a pleasant-faced woman soon prepared a piping hot breakfast. As he ate and drank, Jack inquired the way to Musky Bay.