His voice was deeply tragic now. Star-gazing had made him forget the chicken committed to his care; the plate had tipped; the fowl, hesitating not an instant, had taken a swift glide down the inclined plane into the ocean. For the second time Nina had lost her supper.
“What bad taste!” exclaimed the boy, gloomily. “You have such pretty teeth, and a shark—oh, horrors!” Then, rapidly, and in the same breath, he asked, “Why have fowls no future state?”
He waited an instant only for her answer, then rattled off: “Because they have their next world in this world,—necks twirled in this world. Comprenez-vous? Now may I get you another?”
“Another what,—a conundrum or a chicken?”
“The latter,” he answered, soberly.
“What,—three chickens in one evening?” said Nina. “No, thank you. Think of the reputation for greediness you would put upon me. I shall content myself with the crackers and lemonade now, and that reminds me—I must go and eat them.”
“Where?” he asked, eagerly.
“In the chart-room.”
“That belongs to the captain, and are you travelling under his wing, too, Miss—Miss—I don’t know your name,” he added, suggestively.
“Miss Truecumtrotty,” said Nina, demurely.