"It's a sailor's plum pudding," volunteered Dick, who had read many sea tales. "Right," assented Widdy, "only it's better." "I think I could make some," said the wealthy lad, who was not a little proud of his cooking abilities, and who had often shown his culinary skill when in camp. "Ah, my boy!" exclaimed the old sailor, "plum duff ain't what it used to be. It ain't got the same flavor, split my lee scuppers if it has!" "I'm sure I could make some that would have," declared Dick. "I'm going to try, too. Do you think the crew would like some?" "Dash my belayin' pin, but they would!" exclaimed Widdy. "That settles it!" cried the young yacht owner. "I'll make a lot, and we'll have some aft, too, fellows." "Not any for mine, thank you," said Frank Bender, hastily, moving off to try a new acrobatic stunt he had been practising. "Why not?" asked Dick, somewhat indignantly. "I don't believe you know the difference between plum duff and sea biscuit," was Frank's answer, and he dodged behind a deck chair, to be safe, in case Dick threw anything at him. "You'll see," was the yacht owner's comment, as he moved toward the galley, where a fat German cook, Hans Weyler, presided. Dick's chums wanted to see him at work, but he shut himself in with the cook, and soon curious sounds proceeded from the galley. There was the rattle of pots and pans, and an occasional deep-voiced German exclamation, followed by Dick's calm words. "_Ach himmel!_ Vy you do it dot way?" cried the cook, so that he could be heard from one end of the yacht to the other. "Because that's the right way," answered Dick. "But, oxcuse me, Herr Hamilton, dot stuff should boiled be, und you haf roasted it on der oven alretty yet." "Sure, I'm baking it. That's the proper way to do it. I'll steam it afterward." "_Ach!_ Vot a foolishness vaste of der good t'ings," was the cook's despairing remark. "Fellows, there's going to be some fun before this plum duff is made," prophesied Paul Drew. "It sure looks that way," agreed Frank, as he balanced himself on his hands and head on a coil of rope. Dick was in and out of the galley several times. On each occasion he seemed to have accumulated a little more flour on his clothes or face. Finally, after more than an hour's work, he announced triumphantly: "Now, fellows, it's done, and I want old Widdy to have the first sniff of it. He said I couldn't make one, and I want to show him that I can. Ask him to step here, Tim." The newsboy found the old salt splicing a rope, and soon Widdy, having put away his pipe, stumped toward the galley. Dick emerged, gaily bearing on a large platter a round, brown, smoking object, with a cloud of steam hovering over it, and a most appetizing odor wafting from it all about the deck. "Here, Widdy, take a look at this!" cried Dick, proudly. "Is this plum duff, such as you used to get, or not?" "It looks like it," admitted the old sailor, carefully.