"Can't the steward get us up a fresh bag of bread for breakfast?" exclaimed the third man.
"He's in the cuddy," I replied; "ask him."
They bobbed their heads forward to see through the cuddy windows, and at that moment Duckling came on deck up through the companion.
"You can get your breakfast," said he to me. "I'll keep watch until you've done."
"Here are some men on the quarter-deck complaining of the bread," said I. "Will you speak to them?"
He came forward at once, very briskly, and looked over.
"What's the matter?" he called out.
"We've come to complain of the ship's bread, sir," said one of the men, quite civilly.
"Dam bad bread, sar. Me honest man and speak plain truff," exclaimed the cook, who possibly thought that his position privileged him to be both easy and candid on the subject of eating.
"Get away forward!" cried Duckling, passionately. "The bread's good enough. You want to kick up a shindy."