sheen and whiteness that bore the cruiser's former name and flag woven
in the centre, held a plentiful supply of canned beans, fried bacon,
potato chips, bread and butter and raspberry jam. Everything was
thrillingly fine, from the pure linen tablecloth and napkins to the
silverware. The plates held the same design that was worked into the
napery, as did even the knives and forks and spoons. Ossie was
apologetic as to the menu, although he need not have been.

"There wasn't time to do much cooking," he said, "and, besides, I
haven't got the hang of things yet. I never tried to do anything on an
alcohol stove before. It takes longer, seems to me. I couldn't get the
oven heated until about five minutes ago, and so if those potato-chips
aren't very warm--"

"I'm warm enough, if they aren't," said Neil. "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?"