IX
There were yet several hours before the time fixed for the arrival of the guests, but every moment of that interval was fully occupied.
Wilson and the bowman set to work to complete the decoration of the hold while the midshipman, with no small faith in his ability as a cook, boiled the Christmas puddings which the crew of the Marie Lescaut had left in readiness for the feast.
Then the picket-boat’s crew had breakfast.
Strictly speaking, they had no right to help themselves; but in the circumstances necessity in the form of hunger knew no law. The captain and crew of the schooner had deserted their craft, and the most of the food they left would soon go bad if unused.
“If there’s a stink about sneaking their grub I suppose they’ll let me pay for it,” was Kenneth’s sop to his conscience. “As for the kids’ treat, I don’t suppose the Frenchmen will mind.”
Meanwhile Leading Stoker Brown, having got the motor running satisfactorily, turned his attention to the jammed steering-gear.
Presently he came aboard the schooner, and went below to where his superior officer was tending the galley fire.
“Beg pardon, sir, but I’ve found out what’s wrong with that there gear.”
“You have?”