"It smells delicious..." said the young man. He tried to cut the lump, which slipped from beneath his knife and bounded across the saloon. Wood's face expressed polite disappointment at the loss of the relish. The suffering steward, unable to look at him, hurried on with the dish, passing it next to Hermione, who ripped off a ragged piece of the "crust," which she proceeded to cover with a substance much resembling asphalt. Mr. Poole, Wood's host on the _Arcturus_, came next. The face of this gentleman was painfully congested and his hand trembled so that he could scarcely hold the spoon. Bell watched him narrowly. It was at moments such as these that he was apt to form his friendships and enmities. Hermione saw that Poole was not up to the ordeal and came generously to the rescue. "Be careful..." said she, "papa lost his watch a few days ago, and he would never forgive you if you were to break it." Even Captain Bell had to join in the roar which followed. But there was a fighting gleam in his eye which boded ill for somebody. "That's right, laugh..." roared Bell. "Funny, ain't it ... and you girls know perfectly well that this is the first dish o' mine that's gone wrong since ... since..." "Since the casserole blew up and we had to raise the cook's wages," said Hermione. "It's all the fault of that infernal Pilot-fish and his swab-headed, swivel-eyed Finn..." stormed Bell, oblivious to all attempts at restraint. "How in the deuce am I goin' to cook a dish requirin' care and watchfulness with all hands, cook, scullion..." "...and yourself..." "... and myself, then, breaking for the rail every time some square-head for'ard sights a fishin' boat? That's the way the salt-cellar got ... lost. I set it down on the crust for a second to take a look, and it got drawn in, like ... like..." "Like it might have in any other quicksand," supplied Hermione. No fear nor respect of the host could drown the roar which followed and stifled echoes of which appeared to come from the pantry, whither the steward had fled. Bell was, however, furious. "Steward..." he bawled. The unhappy man appeared, saddened, to judge by the funereal expression of his face, and the tears still brimming in his eyes. "Take this dish forward," said Bell, with great dignity, "and present it, with my compliments, to Captain Heldstrom and the mate." "How about the corroded top of that salt-cellar, papa?" asked Paula. "Might not that be poisonous?" "It doesn't need the salt-cellar..." Hermione whispered to the writhing Mr. Poole. "That may be so ... that may be so," Bell assented. "Wonder none of the rest of you had the wit to think of it. Steward..." "Sir..." "Carry the blamed thing up and heave it overboard." Bell glared savagely about him. "There's a whole morning's work and two fine chickens ... no, three..." "Three!"