“Leave him alone,” said he quietly, “we’ll take it out of him to-morrow.”
For some time Tommy lay worrying over the fate in store for him, and then, yielding to fatigue, turned over and slept soundly until he was awakened some three hours later by the men’s voices, and, looking out, saw that the lamp was alight and the crew at supper, listening quietly to Bill, who was speaking.
“I’ve a good mind to strike, that’s what I’ve a good mind to do,” he said savagely, as, after an attempt at the butter, he put it aside and ate dry biscuit.
“An’ get six months,” said old Ned. “That won’t do, Bill.”
“Are we to go a matter of six or seven days on dry biscuit and rotten taters?” demanded the other fiercely. “Why, it’s slow sooicide.”
“I wish one of you would commit sooicide,” said Ned, looking wistfully round at the faces, “that ’ud frighten the old man, and bring him round a bit.”
“Well, you’re the eldest,” said Bill pointedly.
“Browning’s a easy death too,” said Simpson persuasively, “you can’t have much enjoyment in life at your age, Ned?”
“And you might leave a letter behind to the skipper, saying as ’ow you was drove to it by bad food,” said the cook, who was getting ex-cited.
“Talk sense!” said the old man very shortly.