"God knows," answered Forsythe, reflectively. "Without oil, we stop—in mid-ocean. What then?"
"What then?" queried Riley. "Well, before then we must hold up some craft and get the oil—also grub and water, if I guess right. This bunch is hard on the commissary."
"Riley," said Forsythe, impressively, "will you stand by me?"
"Yes; if you can bring that big chump to terms."
"All right. Talk to your partners. Something must be done—and he can't do it. Wait a little."
As though to verify Riley and uphold him in his contention, Daniels, the cook, came forward from the galley, and said: "Just about one week's whack o' grub and water left. We'll have to go on an allowance." Then he passed on, but was called back.
"One week's grub left?" asked Forsythe. "Sure o' that, Daniels?"
"Surest thing you know. Plenty o' beans and hard-tack; but who wants beans and hard-tack?"
"Have you spoken to Jenkins about it?"
"No, but we meant to. Something's got to be done. Where is he now?"