fat, sir,' says I. 'Fat's the cure,' says the captain, and makes
me eat it. 'Lean's the cure,' says the captain, and makes me eat
it. 'Steady?' says the captain. 'Sick,' says I. 'Go on deck,'
says the captain; 'get rid of the boiled leg of mutton and
trimmings and come back to the cabin.' Off I go, staggering--back
I come, more dead than alive. 'Deviled kidneys,' says the
captain. I shut my eyes, and got 'em down. 'Cure's beginning,'
says the captain. 'Mutton-chop and pickles.' I shut my eyes, and
got _them_ down. 'Broiled ham and cayenne pepper,' says the
captain. 'Glass of stout and cranberry tart. Want to go on deck
again?' 'No, sir,' says I. 'Cure's done,' says the captain.
'Never you give in to your stomach, and your stomach will end in
giving in to you.'"

Having stated the moral purpose of his story in those
unanswerable words, John Want took himself and his saucepan into
the kitchen. A moment later, Crayford returned to the hut and
astonished Frank Aldersley by an unexpected question.

"Have you anything in your berth, Frank, that you set a value
on?"

"Nothing that I set the smallest value on--when I am out of it,"
he replied. "What does your question mean?"

"We are almost as short of fuel as we are of provisions,"
Crayford proceeded. "Your berth will make good firing. I have
directed Bateson to be here in ten minutes with his ax."

"Very attentive and considerate on your part," said Frank. "What