For one moment of terrible suspense the skipper’s life hung in the balance, then the “Bruiser,” restraining his natural instincts by a mighty effort, retreated, growling, to the galley.

The skipper’s breath came more freely.

“He don’t know your address, I s’pose,” said the mate.

“No, but he’ll soon find it out when we get ashore,” replied the other dolefully.  “When I think that I’ve got to take that brute to my home to make mischief I feel tempted to chuck him overboard almost.”

“It is a temptation,” agreed the mate loyally, closing his eyes to his chief’s physical deficiencies.  “I’ll pass the word to the crew not to let him know your address, anyhow.”

The morning passed quietly, the skipper striving to look unconcerned as the new cook grimly brought the dinner down to the cabin and set it before him.  After toying with it a little while, the master of the Frolic dined off buttered biscuit.

It was a matter of much discomfort to the crew that the new cook took his duties very seriously, and prided himself on his cooking.  He was, moreover, disposed to be inconveniently punctilious about the way in which his efforts were regarded.  For the first day the crew ate in silence, but at dinner-time on the second the storm broke.

“What are yer looking at your vittles like that for?” inquired the “Bruiser” of Sam Dowse, as that able-bodied seaman sat with his plate in his lap, eyeing it with much disfavour.  “That ain’t the way to look at your food, after I’ve been perspiring away all the morning cooking it.”

“Yes, you’ve cooked yourself instead of the meat,” said Sam warmly.  “It’s a shame to spoil good food like that; it’s quite raw.”

“You eat it!” said the “Bruiser” fiercely; “that’s wot you’ve go to do.  Eat it!”

For sole answer the indignant Sam threw a piece at him, and the rest of the crew, snatching up their dinners, hurriedly clambered into their bunks and viewed the fray from a safe distance.

“Have you ’ad enough?” inquired the “Bruiser,” addressing the head of Sam, which protruded from beneath his left arm.

“I ’ave,” said Sam surlily.

“And you won’t turn up your nose at good vittles any more?” inquired the “Bruiser” severely.

“I won’t turn it up at anything,” said Sam earnestly, as he tenderly felt the member in question.

“You’re the only one as ’as complained,” said the “Bruiser.”  “You’re dainty, that’s wot you are.  Look at the others—­look how they’re eating theirs!”

At this hint the others came out of their bunks and fell to, and the “Bruiser” became affable.

“It’s wonderful wot I can turn my ’and to,” he remarked pleasantly.  “Things come natural to me that other men have to learn.  You ’d better put a bit of raw beef on that eye o’ yours, Sam.”

The thoughtless Sam clapped on a piece from his plate, and it was only by the active intercession of the rest of the crew that the sensitive cook was prevented from inflicting more punishment.