"Milk."
"The cow arn't calved that' to pervide that."
"Well, get me some suet."
"None in the ship. Only a little rancid butter."
"Take away the flour and the board. The idea of making a plum-pudding out of putrid water, musty flour, and raisins, is too ridiculous."
"Give me some of the raisins," said Sam, "and Hanibal will make a sea plum-pudding."
"I wonder what it will be like!" And Flora laughed, as she gave him as many raisins as he required.
It was amusing to watch the Captain at dinner, playing the petty tyrant over the poor French pilot, on to whose plate he chucked the outside slice of the hard, tough beef, as if he had been throwing a bone to a dog.
The pilot showed his white teeth, and his dark eyes blazed as he flashed them full in the Captain's face, and, throwing the meat back into the dish, he strode from the table.
"Brother," said Collins, a name he seldom applied to the Captain, and only when he wished to impress him particularly on any important subject, "you had better try anither tack wi' the pilot. That won't do. He's a proud, high-spirited fellow; he'll no stand ony nonsense."