"They're hot!" he exclaimed, holding his tingling fingers.
"Sorry," murmured Jock. "I meant them to be warmed. Pick them up with that cloth. I'm bringing in the steak and potatoes."
Judging by the rich brown appearance and savoury odour, the steak was done to a turn. But alas! Both meat and potatoes were as gritty and as unpalatable as the pea soup. It was only by carefully scraping the steak on all sides that it could be rendered eatable; while the potatoes, boiled to softness, would not yield to such treatment. Nor was the bread much better.
"I can't think what's happened, sir," said Findlay, abjectly apologetic.
"I can tell you, I think," rejoined the Scoutmaster. "Everything's smothered with cement dust, and the powder has solidified into little pellets. Look! This shelf is thick with white dust."
Desmond laughed good-humouredly.
"Poor old Jock evidently forgot that we belong to the Seal Patrol, sir," he exclaimed. "He thinks we are ostriches. Ostriches swallow chunks of stone and nails, don't they, sir?"
There was yet another course—jam tart—but Findlay had not the courage to produce it. Surreptitiously, a couple of hours later, he dropped it overboard. The pastry, as hard as iron, sank like a stone, which was not to be wondered at when Jock found that the remainder of the cement had toppled over into the jar containing the flour. In the dim light of the fo'c'sle he had failed to notice the catastrophe—hence the pastry composed of flour and cement in almost equal parts.
There was nothing to be done but to fall back upon bully beef and biscuits. Fortunately, these were in air-tight tins and had escaped the sand-storm which had swept over the cabin and fo'c'sle.
"Cheer up, Jock!" exclaimed Mr. Graham. "There's no harm done." ("I don't know about that," remarked Hayes sotto voce.) "It's merely a little object lesson in the advantages and disadvantages of the use of Portland cement."