"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.
Ossie alone remained below, and from the galley came the clatter of
dishes and a cheerful tune as the steward cleared away and washed up.
Joe smiled at Phil.

"Ossie's having the time of his life now," he said, "but wait until the
novelty wears off. Then we'll hear some tall kicking about the
dishwashing, or I miss my guess."

"We'll have to take turns helping him at that," said Steve. "If we don't
he's likely to mutiny. There's Coney over there, fellows."

The others gathered on the port side to gaze across the water at the
crowded beach and the colourful maze of buildings. "It looks jolly,
doesn't it?" asked Han. "Couldn't we run in closer, Steve?"

"We could, but it would take us out of our course. I'm heading for