Chatterbox, 1905 Part 65

The bow-legged cook put his hand in his pocket and drew out a grimy, paper-covered note-book.

'Plum duff comes first,' he said, as he handed the book to Charlie. 'Can you read it?'

'There are a few words which I can't quite understand,' Charlie replied, for the cookery-book was an extraordinary work. The writing was bad, the spelling was worse, and the abbreviations were confusing. But the cook went right through the book with him then and there.

'Now you'll be able to cook anything,' he declared, when they had got to the end.

'I'm not so sure of that,' Charlie answered; 'but anyhow, I shall have some idea of how to set to work. What time to-morrow shall I have to be aboard?'

'At six in the morning.'

'Won't the skipper discover me before we get out of the river?'

'No. He doesn't often pop his head into the galley. Anyhow, he cannot do without a cook, and if he does see you, he won't turn you off when he finds that I am not aboard. I will write a letter to the mate for you to give him, and perhaps he won't say a word to the skipper about you.

Don't you worry yourself, you will be all right.'

Charlie slept that night at the Fishermen's Home. He had a clean and comfortable bed for ninepence, and a good breakfast for a few coppers.

The bow-legged cook met him in the morning outside the Home, and gave him a letter to the mate.

'It took me two hours to write,' he declared, 'and when I finished it I didn't think it was worth while going to sleep. But that doesn't matter; I shall get plenty of sleep during the next few weeks. I'm going to live like a gentleman for a time.'

Charlie smiled, and drew his purse out of his pocket. 'Here is three pounds,' he said. 'The other three I will give you when I return.'

'Suppose you don't return, sir? Accidents happen at sea as well as on land. If you got washed overboard, should I lose my three pounds?'

'Oh, no. I have written to my father, telling him the agreement I have made with you, and if I should not return he will pay you the money.

Here is his address.'

'Thank you, sir, very much,' the cook answered. 'And now, as it's a quarter to six, you had better hurry off to the _Sparrow-hawk_. Light the fire and put the kettle on it directly you get aboard. The chaps will want some tea long before they have their breakfast.'

'I'll remember,' Charlie promised; 'good-bye.' And with his bundle of belongings on his shoulder, he hurried off to where the _Sparrow-hawk_ lay.

'Where is the mate?' Charlie inquired of a boy who looked at him sharply as he went aboard the _Sparrow-hawk_.

'For'ard,' the boy answered.

Charlie went for'ard, and seeing a man standing with his arms folded, watching three men who were working hard, concluded rightly that he was the mate, and handed him the cook's letter.

'Who is it from?' the mate asked.

'The cook, sir,' Charlie answered.

The mate tore open the envelope and glanced at the letter. 'He wrote it with a toasting-fork, I should think,' the mate declared, after looking at it for a few moments. 'He says he is ill. At any rate, he has not turned up. So you're his subst.i.tute? Well, take your things below and get into the galley sharp. I want a mug of tea as soon as possible.'

Charlie went down into the foc's'le--a small, dark, stifling place where eight men slept. The thought of having to spend his nights in that dirty, close den made him half-inclined to jump ash.o.r.e before the boat started. Quickly overcoming the thought, he set to work to discover which was his bunk, and while he was searching for some sign that would help him to settle the matter, a Chinaman came below. He was dressed in ordinary North Sea fishermen's clothes, and his pigtail was wound tightly round the top of his head. Charlie mistook his natural expression for a friendly smile, and therefore smiled in return.

'Which is the cook's bunk?' he asked immediately, and the Chinaman pointed it out to him.

The Chinaman watched Charlie as he stowed his things away and donned his cook's ap.r.o.n. Then he exclaimed suddenly, 'You no sailor-man!'

Charlie looked at the Chinaman in surprise. 'How can you tell?' he asked.

'Never mind,' the Chinaman answered, now smiling in reality; 'me no tellee any one. Me likee you first chop.'

Charlie's knowledge of 'pidgin' English was slight, but he concluded that 'first chop' meant 'very much,' and was pleased to find that he had made one friend so quickly.

'My name Ping w.a.n.g,' the Chinaman continued, 'but sailor men callee me Chinee. Skipper Dlummond welly bad man. Callee me tellible bad names.

Good morning; no can stop.'

Ping w.a.n.g went on deck, and a few moments later Charlie followed and hurried to the galley, where his difficulties commenced. In spite of all his efforts he could not light the fire, and, remembering the bow-leg cook's injunction to keep the kettle always boiling, he began to think that he was making a very bad start. He left the galley in order to ask one of the men to show him how to make the fire burn, and met Ping w.a.n.g.

'Can tellee me how lightee fire?' Charlie asked.

Ping w.a.n.g nodded his head, popped into the galley, and pointed out to Charlie that he had omitted to pull out the damper. Then he relaid the fire, and, when he lighted it, it burned up quickly.

'You no sailor-man; you no cook!' Ping w.a.n.g whispered merrily, and then hurried away.

'Ping w.a.n.g and I will get on very well together,' Charlie said to himself as he filled the huge kettle with water. The kettle boiled quickly, and almost immediately after the ship had left the dock the mate's mug of tea was ready.

'Have you given the skipper any?' the mate asked; and when Charlie replied 'No,' he exclaimed, 'You had better be quick and take him some, then.'

Charlie filled another mug with tea and took it up on the bridge, but, just as he reached the top step of the ladder, he stumbled, and, to prevent himself from falling, dropped the mug. It fell with a crash on the bridge, and the tea splashed the skipper's sh.o.r.e trousers, which he had not yet changed.

Skipper Drummond, a short, stout, ill-tempered fellow, was thoroughly disliked by every one who knew him. He glared at Charlie for a moment as if he had committed some terrible offence, and then shouted fiercely 'What did you do that for, you idiot?'

'It was an accident,' Charlie answered bluntly, indignant at being abused.

'Saying it was an accident won't mend the mug.'

'I will pay for a new one,' Charlie rather unwisely replied.

'Pay for it, will you? So we have got a millionaire aboard, I suppose. I wonder you ever came to sea. Why did you? Do the police want you?'

Feeling that if he remained on the bridge he might speak his mind too freely, Charlie turned to go, but the skipper called him back.

'Come here, you ape!' he shouted. 'Do you think I am going to pick up these pieces? Gather them up and throw them overboard.'

(_Continued on page 202._)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The mug fell with a crash on the bridge."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The skipper glanced at his watch."]

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.