“Why, Butts,” exclaimed Gregory, “what do you mean to do with that big horse-pistol? Surely you are not afraid of bears after laughing so much at the one that chased me?”
“Oh, no, not afraid, you know,” replied Davy. “But there’s no harm in being armed.”
“Mind you shoot him straight in the eye, or send a bullet up his nose. Them’s the vulnerable parts of him,” cried Joe Davis, with a laugh, as Butts went down the snow-steps and got upon the ice.
“I say,” cried Pepper, as he was moving away.
“Well?”
“Bring his tongue aboard with you, and I’ll cook it for supper.”
“Ah, and a bit of fat to fry it in,” added the steward. “There’s nothin’ like tongue fried in bear’s grease.”
“No, no, Dawkins,” said Mr Dicey. “Hallo! Davy; bring the ’ams. Bear’s ’ams are considered fustrate heatin’.”
“No, don’t bring the hams,” shouted Jim Croft, “fetch the tongue; that’s the thing for supper of a cold night—fetch the tongue, lad.”
“Hold your own tongue,” shouted Davy, in reply, as he went off amid the laughter of his comrades.