There were numbers running to four and five figures in the table, most of them referring to the pounds of various refuse which had been collected and shipped for conversion into glycerine and other useful and valuable products. Without giving figures which might be "useful or heartening to the enemy," I will probably be permitted to state that the various headings were the following: Drippings, Fat Meat, Bones, Waste Paper, Bottles and Jars, Discarded Clothing, Lead Seals, Mail Bags and Tins. Several of the items would have run to substantial figures even in tons, and the money received for them at even the nominal prices paid by the contractor aggregated many thousands of pounds.
"You will now understand," continued the Fleet Paymaster, "just how it made us feel when we read in a London paper a few days ago a statement to the effect that if the Navy had gone in for waste-saving in the same way the Army had, a certain total would have been greatly increased. Since we've been going into this sort of thing heart and soul for more than a year, and since it is far easier to check waste on a ship (where you have absolute control of all the in-comings and out-goings) than on land, you can imagine that reading that sort of 'tosh' makes us feel—well, about as we do when we try to digest the wisdom of the 'Naval Strategic Writers' of the type that want to put the Grand Fleet on wheels and send it to Berlin." Glancing quickly through the figures under the headings opposite the various ships of our squadron I noticed at once that there were considerable variations in their savings, and, knowing that the number of men did not vary materially on any of them, I asked the reason why the Flagship, for instance, with less than half the weight of "Bones" to her credit than "Ourself," was still able to put by something like 50 per cent. more "Drippings."
"It will probably be because we haven't yet 'standardized' our methods throughout the Fleet," replied the Paymaster; "because different ships may have different ways of going about the job. Of these particular items you have mentioned, perhaps we can find out something by talking to Mr. C——, the Warrant Officer who has charge of the collection of by-products."
Mr. C——, who was plainly an enthusiast, launched into the subject with eagerness.
"I've been intending to explain that matter of the drippings to you, sir," he said, addressing the Fleet Paymaster, "for the figures certainly have the look of not doing us justice. Fact is, though, that the only reason we've run behind the Flagship on this count is because I have been encouraging the messes to carry food-saving one stage farther by using the clean grease—the skimmings from their soup and the water their meat is boiled in—instead of margarine. With a little pepper and salt, most of them like it better even than butter, and of course they can use it much more free. And since dripping is worth much more for food than it ever can be to make up into soap or explosives, I figure I'm on the right track, even if it does give the Lucifer and the Mephistopheles a chance to head us in the 'grease' column. I must admit though, sir, that they've both been gaining a few pounds of second quality stuff by rigging 'traps'—settling tubs at the bottoms of their chutes—in which they catch any grease that has got away from them in the galley. I'll be beating them at that game before long, though, for I'm putting in settling tubs at both top and bottom, with a strainer in between.
"As for the 'Bones,'" he went on, turning to me, "that's largely 'personality.' 'Boney Joe,' my chief assistant, is perhaps more largely responsible than any one else for the fact that we are not only the champion 'bone-collecting' ship of the squadron, but also head the list with 'Bottles and Jars' and 'Empty Tins.' With 'Waste Paper' there's no use competing with the Flagships, for they come in for an even heavier bombardment of that kind of stuff from the Admiralty than we do; and as for 'Discarded Clothing,' I feel that a place at the bottom of the column would be more likely to indicate economical management than one at the top. But the things that represent a sheer saving, the things that used to be thrown away right along—they're what it's worth while piling up by every means we can, and they're the ones I want to keep heading the columns with. And, as I said before, 'Boney Joe' is the main feature of the show on this score. If you like, I will arrange it so that you can do his morning round with him to-morrow."
I accepted the offer with alacrity, for I had heard, or heard of, "Boney Joe" on several occasions already, but without once getting my eyes on him. The first time was when, in order to avoid a howling blizzard which was raging outside, I endeavoured to make my way forward to the ladders leading up to my cabin under the bridge by threading the mazes of the mess deck. Bent almost double to keep from butting the low swung hammocks, I tripped the more easily over a box of empty tins, and fell with one arm sousing elbow-deep into what proved to be a tub of "frozen" grease. Surveying the draggled cuff of my jacket in the morning, my servant pronounced his verdict without a moment's hesitation.
"Tumblin' into 'Boney Joe's' pickin's last night, sir, was you?" he said with a grin; "we's allus doin' it oursel's."
On a number of other occasions certain sirenical notes which came floating up to my cabin from the mess deck were variously ascribed to "'Boney Joe' doin' 'is rounds," "'Boney Joe' cadgin' for grease," and "Boney Joe singin' 'is 'Mornin' 'Ate.'" I had several pictures of "Boney Joe" in my mind, but not one of them came near to fitting the handsome, strongly built and thoroughly sailorly man-o'-war's-man whom Mr. C—— introduced to me as the bearer of that storied name on the following morning. Only a sort of scallawag twinkle in his eye revealed him as a man who liked his little joke.
"If you don't mind, sir," he said, saluting, "we'll clean up these last two flats, an' then we'll be clear to push along up to my 'bonatorium' an' have a bit o' a yarn."