“We thin chaps certainly have the advantage in the tropics, Mr. Warriner; and ever since I was seventeen, and had the yellow fever at Rio, there ain’t been any more meat on me than there is on a starved horse,” I answered. I had no call to feel flattered, but I was, just the same, for Pratt sometimes poked fun at me for being so d—d lean; and didn’t I find a picture drawn on the bulwarks forward of an oar with clothes on that looked kind of like me? If I could have found out which of those black sons of Belial did it, he would have caught a whaling, you bet! We had a cook who also waited off at table,—a steward was too much luxury for the _Dicky Bird_, and of all the infernal liars that ever lived, I believe that Cornwallis Tecumseh Jones was the worst. He knew his business pretty well, and could turn a flap-jack by throwing it up in the air from one window of the galley, and catching it as it came down by the window on the opposite side. {31} The passenger, Pratt and me were talking of various things one afternoon when Warriner said: “Captain, to-morrow will be Thanksgiving, and I propose that we observe the day by having some appropriate dish for dinner. Turkey and pumpkin pie are out of the question, so what do you say to an English plum-pudding?” “Anything, sir; anything to keep the peace. Plum-pudding or pear-pudding, Thanksgiving or lobscouse.” (Pratt was about half heeled over, as usual with him that time of day.) “Lobscouse! Captain Pratt, I will thank you not to mention that abominable mixture in my presence. It passes my comprehension how you can eat such stuff. Neither do I like this flippant reference to so august a day as Thanksgiving. “But a plum-pudding will be excellent—that is, if you think that darkey won’t ruin it in the making. I have a splendid recipe in my trunk, and although some of the necessary ingredients are probably lacking, it will be possible to produce a very fair pudding.” “Let’s have it,” said I. “Anything for a change is my sentiments.” “Darkeys usually have quite a knack for cooking, and I suppose if the recipe is placed before Cornwallis he will do the subject justice. I will get it at once.” “The Lord only knows, Mr. Warriner. Did you ever hear a certain proverb that is common at sea: ‘God sends meat and the devil sends cooks?’ It’s astonishing how good provisions can be changed into all sorts of queer shapes. But get your directions and take them to the galley. The black imp may surprise us.”