As the Doctor described the remedies he desired his patient to adopt, Roly Poly’s mouth gradually extended itself till it threatened to approach his ears; and his eyes kept winking and staring as if in complete consternation.
“Massa!” at last he loudly exclaimed, and seemed gradually becoming more indignant. “What, starve poor nigger! reduce poor Roly Poly to a natomy! No eat no pound and harp o’ beef, no berry little lump o’ cold puddin big as my two fistes—no red herrin—no nuttin! You want to kill poor Roly Poly, Sar! You want to ’prive de world o’ de cook what makes de booflifulest dishes as you nebber see, Sar! You want to make skeleton o’ poor nigger to put in glass-case, Sar! Nebber heard o’ sich numanity! sick barbararity—sich cruelty to anmals! Where de debble you spect to go when you die?”
“Well, if you don’t like to follow my prescriptions, it’s no use coming for my advice, don’t you see,” remarked the Doctor.
“Follow your scriptions?” replied his patient, losing all respect for his companion in the intensity of his indignation. “Follow a shark’s grandmutter, Sar. What, eat nuttin but arrow-root? nassy slop!—pooty joke indeed. Drink nuttin but barley water?—washy stuff! Tink you catch me at it. Be bled and physicked, and run up and down deck six times a day for harp an hour—what a preposterosterous impossumbility.”
“You will get much worse if you don’t, and possibly you may die, don’t you see,” observed Tourniquet.
“Die, Massa!” cried the fat cook, looking horrified at the idea, and rubbing his stomach with an increased energy. “Oh, sich a debble ob a pain! Die Massa! Poor Roly Poly die? Sich a boofliful cook die! Quite unnatral, Massa. Oh, sich a debble ob a pain! What become o’ de poor fellars who eat him nice puddins, and soups, and all dat? Nebber hab no beckfast; nebber hab no lunch; nebber hab no dinner; nebber hab no tea; nebber hab no supper; never hab no nuttin! What become o’ ebry body? What become o’ ship? Same o’ you say Roly Poly die! Nobody do nuttin widout him; cook be most important ofcer in ship. Roly Poly be booflifulest cook as nebber was. Same o’ you say Roly Poly die!”
“Well you will find out the difference by-and-bye, don’t you see,” said the Doctor; and, turning on his heel, he left his patient to his own reflections.
“Him no more doctor dan a jackmorass,” muttered the fat cook, as he waddled to another part of the ship, making the most ludicrous grimaces, and rubbing his stomach with an activity, that for him, was quite surprising. On his way he met with Loop, the young midshipman, who had lately distinguished himself by his love of mischief, and fondness for tricks. The lad, with a very demure face, approached Roly Poly.
“How do you do, Roly Poly?” he inquired, looking into his face as if he was wonderfully interested in the result of his question.
“Oh, sich a debble ob a pain!” replied the fat cook, with a most melancholy visage, continuing the up and down motion of his hand.