“We’ll need flour, coffee, tea, salt, rice, cheese--” “Pepper,” interpolated Dick. “Baking-powder, sugar, flavoring extracts--” “Mustard,” proposed Chub, “for mustard plasters, you know.” “And lots of things like that,” ended Roy triumphantly. “What we need is a grocery,” sighed Chub. “Aren’t we going to have any meat at all? I have a very delicate stomach, fellows, and the doctor insists on meat three times a day. Personally, I don’t care for it much; I’m a vegetarian by conviction and early training; but one can’t go against the doctor’s orders, you know. Now, for breakfast a small rasher of bacon--” “What’s a rasher?” Roy demanded. “For luncheon a--er--two or three simple little chops, and for dinner a small roast of beef or lamb or a friendly steak. Those, with a few vegetables and an occasional egg, suffice my simple needs. I might mention, however, that a suggestion of sweet, such as a plum-pudding, a mince-pie or a dab of ice-cream, has always seemed to me a proper topping off to a meal, if I may use the expression.” “You may use any expression you like,” answered Roy cruelly, “but if you think we’re going to have roasts you’ve got another guess coming to you. Why, that kitchen--” “Galley,” corrected Chub helpfully. --“is too small for anything bigger than a French chop!” “When Chub gets awfully hungry,” observed Dick, “we might tie up to the shore and cook him something over the fire; have a barbecue, you know.” “Cook a whole ox for him,” laughed Roy. “I guess that’s the only way Chub will ever get enough to eat.” “You quit bothering about me,” said Chub scornfully, “and study seamanship. Remember you’re to be an able seaman and if you don’t come up to the standard for able seaman I’ll do things to you with a belaying-pin.” “Isn’t he the cruel-hearted captain?” asked Dick. “I don’t believe I want to ship with him, Roy.” “Oh, you’ll be all right. Chub won’t dare to touch you for fear he won’t get his dinner.” “There you go again!” Chub groaned. “You fellows simply talk a subject to death. Your conversation lacks--lacks variety, diversity. If you are quite through vilifying me--” “Doesn’t he use lovely language?” murmured Roy in an aside to Dick. “We will now proceed with our estimate,” concluded Chub. “As I was saying, eggs--” “I tell you what we might use,” interrupted Dick. “Have you ever seen any of this powdered egg?” “Is this a joke?” asked Chub darkly. “No, really! You buy it in cans. It’s eggs, just the yolks, you know, with all the moisture taken out of them. It’s a yellow powder. And when you want an omelet you just mix some milk with it and stir it up and there you are!” But Chub was suspicious. “And how do you make a fried egg out of it?” he asked. “You can’t, of course, because the whites aren’t there; but--” “Then we want none of it! An egg that you can’t fry isn’t a respectable egg. If I can’t have real eggs I’ll starve like a gentleman.”