"I only thought so because you appear to know all sorts of dodges for prolonging existence—things I never heard of."
"Broiled ham—and biscuits—for instance?"
At another time Iris would have snapped at him for the retort. Still humbly regretful for her previous attitude she answered meekly—
"Yes, in this manner of cooking them, I mean. But there are other items—methods of lighting fires, finding water, knowing what fruits and other articles may be found on a desert island, such as plantains and cocoanuts, certain sorts of birds—and bêche-de-mer."
For the life of her she could not tell why she tacked on that weird item to her list.
The sailor inquired, more civilly—"Then you are acquainted with trepang?"
"Who?"
"Trepang—bêche-de-mer, you know."
Iris made a desperate guess. "Yes," she said, demurely. "It makes beautiful backs for hair brushes. And it looks so nice as a frame for platinotype photographs. I have—"
Jenks swallowed a large piece of ham and became very red. At last he managed to say—"I beg your pardon. You are thinking of tortoise-shell. Bêche-de-mer is a sort of marine slug."