He broke off his reflections with a heavy sigh, and tackled the uninviting-looking stale bread. First, however, he took a hearty draught from the water pitcher, for he was very thirsty.
He was munching away at a dried crust when he suddenly saw some object dangling in front of the cabin port hole. At first he thought it was a sea bird. But the next instant he made it out as a parcel hanging on the end of a string.
“Must be for me,� mused the lad, and reaching out an arm he drew in the package. The string came with it, as whoever had lowered the package from the stern deck above, released his grip.
Raynor tore away the wrappings and revealed what was to him just then a banquet. There was a chicken wing, crisp fried potatoes, pickles and a wedge of pie. Scrawled on the paper which contained the meal was this message:
“Ete harty.�
“That’s good old Noddy,� cried Raynor to himself, his eyes growing misty. “He’s stolen part of that chicken that was killed yesterday for the captain’s dinner and risked punishment to help me out. What a fine fellow he is for all his odd ways!�
With a good appetite Raynor fell to on the daintier fare that had come to him by “air route.� In a short time not a crumb was left. The day wore slowly away after that. At dusk Pompey appeared and thrust a lantern inside the cabin. But he did not speak. From this Raynor judged that Terror Carson was near at hand.
His captivity was wearing on him, even in the short time that he had been confined. He had nothing to read, and had passed the long hours of daylight gazing out of the port hole and watching the waves and an occasional sea-bird that swooped in the schooner’s wake, alert for scraps from the galley.
The lantern was a welcome companion at least. Raynor felt that he could not have passed an entire night in the dark with only his thoughts for company. He hung the lantern on a hook on the ceiling and cast himself on his back on the bunk.
All at once he sat bolt upright with an exclamation.