Steve humoured him several times, until the others complained that they were getting tired of stopping at every bunch of rocks on the Maine Coast, and pointed out, besides, that, as Perry had owned to having but nine dollars in his pocket just a few days before, it wasn’t at all likely that he would find an island within his means.  After exhausting the interest of Casco Bay the two boats ran further up the shore and spent another forty-eight hours at Camden.  Steve had friends there and the whole tribe of mariners were invited to dinners and luncheons and found that “home cooking” was all that it was popularly believed to be.  Ossie had a most perfect time during those two days.

“Nothing to cook but breakfast,” he said ecstatically, “and real food the other two meals!  Gee, but it’s fine to eat something some other poor duffer has cooked!  Say, Joe, what is it that pigs have that kills them off in bunches:  sort of a—­an epidemic?”

“Hog cholera,” hazarded Joe.  “Aren’t you feeling well, Ossie?”

“Well, I wish they’d all have it,” said Ossie devoutly.  “I’m so plumb sick of cooking bacon!”

The rest agreed, away from Ossie’s hearing, that it was a very fortunate thing that the period of eating ashore had arrived when it did, for Ossie had been showing symptoms of mutiny of late and his cooking had noticeably fallen off.  “He was due to strike in another few days,” said Han.  “Then someone else would have had to take the job, and we would all have starved to death.”

“In the absence of the cook,” observed Perry gravely, “the job falls to the crew.”

“No, sir, to the second mate,” corrected Han.  “Isn’t that so, Joe?”

“I’m not sure.  The only thing I am sure of is that—­um—­it doesn’t fall to the chief engineer.”

“I should say not!” retorted Perry.  “Think of eating food flavoured with engine oil!”

“Couldn’t be any worse than pudding flavoured with onion extract,” chuckled Joe, referring to a viand prepared by Ossie while at Newburyport.  Ossie had meant to put in a spoonful of vanilla, but the two bottles looked so much alike—­

The pudding was never eaten, unless the fish consumed it, and the mention of it still caused Ossie great pain and humiliation.

They went into the water every morning before breakfast, lived almost every minute in the open air—­for even at night the wide-open ports and doors made the cabins like sleeping porches—­ate heartily, got enough exercise to keep them lean and hungry and became tanned with sun and wind to the colour of light mahogany.  Khaki trousers, sleeveless shirts and rubber-soled canvas shoes made up their ordinary attire, although for shore visits they “dolled up” remarkably.  Those early morning baths were fine appetisers, as will be understood by the reader who has had experience of the water along the Maine coast, and the number of eggs and slices of crisp bacon that came off the alcohol stove would sound like a fairy