"He's in the cuddy," I replied; "ask him." They bobbed their heads forward to see through the cuddy windows, and at that moment Duckling came on deck up through the companion. "You can get your breakfast," said he to me. "I'll keep watch until you've done." "Here are some men on the quarter-deck complaining of the bread," said I. "Will you speak to them?" He came forward at once, very briskly, and looked over. "What's the matter?" he called out. "We've come to complain of the ship's bread, sir," said one of the men, quite civilly. "Dam bad bread, sar. Me honest man and speak plain truff," exclaimed the cook, who possibly thought that his position privileged him to be both easy and candid on the subject of eating. "Get away forward!" cried Duckling, passionately. "The bread's good enough. You want to kick up a shindy." The men made a movement, the instinct of obedience responding mechanically to the command. But the cook held his ground, and said, shaking his head and convulsing his face-- "De bread am poison, sar. All de flour's changed into worms. Nebber see such a ting. It get here"--touching his throat--"and make me--yaw!" "Go forward, I tell you, you yellow-faced villain!" shouted Duckling. "D'ye hear what I say?" "Dis chile is a cook," began the fellow; but Duckling sprang off the poop, and with his clenched fist struck him full under the jaw: the poor devil staggered and whirled round, and then up went Duckling's foot, and cook was propelled at a great pace along the main-deck towards the galley. He stopped, put his hand to his jaw, and looked at the palm of it; rubbed the part that had been kicked, turned and held up his clenched fist, and went into the galley. The two other men disappeared in the forecastle. "Curse their impudence!" exclaimed Duckling, remounting the poop-ladder and polishing his knuckles on the sleeve of his coat. "Now, Mr. Royle, get you down to your breakfast. I want to turn in when you've done." I entered the cuddy, not very greatly edified by Duckling's way of emphasizing his orders, and made a bow to the captain, who was still at table. He condescended to raise his eyes, but for some minutes afterwards took no notice of me whatever, occupying himself with glancing over a bundle of slips which looked like bill-heads in his hand. The vessel was rolling so heavily that the very plates slided to and fro the table, and it not only required dexterity, but was no mean labour to catch the coffee-pot off the swinging tray as it came like a pendulum over to my side, and to pour out a cup of coffee without capsizing it. The mahogany panelling and cabin doors all round creaked incessantly, and in the steward's pantry there was a frequent rattle of crockery. "What was going forward on the main-deck just now?" demanded Coxon, stowing away the papers in his pocket, and breaking fragments from a breakfast roll. I explained. "Ah!" said he; "they're still at that game, are they?"