"Irish stew," was the reply.
"How about a cup of tea for Mrs. Collinson?" continued the thoughtful Findlay.
"Just getting it," declared Bedford, indicating a metal tray on which were a couple of enamelled iron mugs and a plate of the same material, all showing signs of hard usage, while a battered tea-pot of huge proportions and a half-consumed tin of condensed milk completed the picture.
"Hardly what a lady would fancy, old son," remarked Findlay cheerfully. "This outfit ought to suit."
So saying, he opened his basket and produced two china cups and saucers, plates, a small brown earthenware tea-pot, and a jug. From another compartment he took a bottle of fresh milk, a roll of bread, butter, and lump sugar; while, rolled up in a clean tablecloth were some knives.
Bedford regarded his chum with ill-disguised astonishment.
"Where did you get that lot from?" he asked. "Who paid for them? Did Mr. Graham give you the money?"
Jock shook his head.
"It's just my good turn for the day," he replied. "The people at the shop where I bought the grub lent me the crockery. They wouldn't charge for the loan of it, though I don't know why they didn't."
In a few minutes the transformation of the tea-tray was complete, and Findlay, cautiously negotiating the steep ladder to the upper deck saloon, brought his offering in safety to the person for whom it was intended. "How delicious!" exclaimed Mrs. Collinson. "Do you always have china cups on board? I don't. On our yacht we have to be content with plain enamelled ones."