"How do you open these
little round window things?"
"Turn the thumb-screws," advised Han. "I think everything's bully, and
I'm as hungry as a bear. Pass the beans, Perry. Got any more tea out
there, cook?"
"Yes, but I'm steward and not cook," replied Ossie, arising from his
camp-stool and stepping into the galley. "Hand over the bread plate,
someone, and I'll cut some more. Bet you it's going to cost us something
for grub, fellows!"
"Well," responded Han, "I'd rather go broke that way than some others.
What kind of tea is this, Ossie?"
"Ceylon. Doesn't it suit you?"
"Oh, I can worry it down, thanks. Sugar, please, Phil. I generally drink
orange pekoe, though. You might lay in a few pounds of it at the next
stop."
"I might," said Ossie, resuming his place at the end of the board, "and
then again I might not. And the probabilities are not. If you don't want
all the potatoes, Joe, you may shove them along this way."
The repast was frequently interrupted by the shrill blast of the
whistle, and whenever that sounded most of the diners scrambled up to
peer interestedly through the ports. In fact, so loth were they to miss
anything that might be happening that they finished dinner in record
time, consuming dessert, which consisted of bananas and pears, outside.
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