“Charlie, I’ve got an idea! Now what do you think of it? There’s no sense in the men’s loafin’ round the stove forever. Let’s get up a society, a kind of readin’, perhaps speakin’ or debatin’ society. Call it—the—the—”
“Cap’n, you’ve hit the nail on the head. A cap’tul idee! Call it the Barney Lit’rary Club. Hoor–rah!”
And here Cook Charlie in his enthusiasm began to swing the dish that he held in his hand. It was half full of crisp brown potatoes, and they too were unable to resist the excitement of the hour, and danced off in every direction.
“Oh, Cap’n, there’s the rest of your breakfast!”
“No matter!” said the keeper, a light flashing from his eyes that made still warmer the color of his hair, his face and his beard. “No matter! I’ve had a good breakfast. We’ve got an idee, you know, to pay for it.”
“That’s so, Cap’n. You brought down the right bird that time.”
“You might sound the men on the subject and tell ’em what I’m a–thinkin’ of.”
“I will, Cap’n.”
“There’s Walter. He’s handy with his pen. You tech him up.”
“I will, sure.”