“Oh, cer’nly, ma’am. By all means,” replied Rokens, taking the spoon and handing it to Miss Jane, under the impression that it was intended for her.
“I beg pardon, it is for yourself, Mr Rokens,” said Martha and Jane together.
“Thank’ee, ma’am,” replied Rokens, growing red, as he began to perceive he was a little “off his course” somehow. “I’ve no occasion for two, an’ this one suits me oncommon.”
“Ah! you prefer big spoons to little ones, my man, don’t you?” said Captain Dunning, coming to the rescue. “Let him alone, Martha, he’s used to take care of himself. Doctor, can you tell me now, which is the easiest of digestion—a hard egg or a soft one?”
Thus appealed to, Dr Hopley paused a moment and frowned at the teapot, as though he were about to tax his brain to the utmost in the solution of an abstruse question in medical science.
“Well now,” he replied, stirring his tea gently, and speaking with much deliberation, “that depends very much upon circumstances. Some digestions can manage a hard egg best, others find a soft one more tractable. And then the state of the stomach at the time of eating has to be taken into account. I should say now, that my little friend Ailie, here, to judge from the rosy colour of her cheeks, could manage hard or soft eggs equally well; couldn’t you, eh?”
Ailie laughed, as she replied, “I’m sure I don’t know, Doctor Hopley; but I like soft ones best.”
To this, Captain Dunning said, “Of course you do, my sensible little pet;” although it would be difficult to show wherein lay the sensibility of the preference, and then added—“There’s Rokens, now; wouldn’t you, doctor—judging from his rosy, not to say purple cheeks—conclude that he wasn’t able to manage even two eggs of any kind?”
“Wot, me!” exclaimed Mr Rokens, looking up in surprise, as indeed he well might, having just concluded his fourth, and being about to commence his fifth egg, to the no small anxiety of Martha and Jane, into whose limited and innocent minds the possibility of such a feat had never entered. “Wot, me! Why, capting, if they was biled as hard as the head of a marline-spike—”
The expanding grin on the captain’s face, and a sudden laugh from the mate, apprised the bold harpooner at this point of his reply that the captain was jesting, so he felt a little confused, and sought relief by devoting himself assiduously to egg Number 5.