CAPT. M. I don’t know about your running the boat, Mary. Ours is a thousand-mile trip, you know, next time, and it’s easier to come down than it is to go up. The Yellow-red winds like a corkscrew. MARY. I know that, William; but I think I can manage her. I have done it; and here we are safe so far, and no accident yet. CAPT. M. (_considering_). This cargo is secure, and the next one all promised. But I hate to leave you, Mary, and the baby. MARY (_to_ PATSY). Keep her on her course, boy! (_To_ WILLIAM) I hate to have you go, William, only I know that it is for your good; and then, if I go, you’ll have to give up the boat, and we shan’t have anything to live on; and that will never do. CAPT. M. You’re right, Mary, as you always are. (_Enter_ HANK, _the cook, with a waiter full of dishes_.) HANK. Here’s your lunch, sir. CAPT. M. Why, Hank! Have _you_ come again? It isn’t more than half an hour since I ate my breakfast. HANK (_drawling_). Yes, it is, sir. It’s an hour. And the doctor says you was to eat every hour. CAPT. M. (_looks at the waiter_). What have you got now? MARY (_to_ PATSY, _hurriedly_). Hard a-port, there! Give that snag a wide berth! (_She goes quickly towards the wheel-house._) Go below, Patsy, and fire up, or we shan’t get to Munroe till moonrise. (_Exit_ PATSY, L., _muttering_.) HANK (_to_ WILLIAM). Waal, tha’s some fixings the Indians say is good for invaliges, and one on ’em showed me how to cook ’em. CAPT. M. What are they, Hank? Name over your bill of fare. HANK. Waal, cap, this ere’s corn-pone, o’ coose; and a dodger or so; a slice o’ bacon; a helter-skelter; some succotash; two frog’s legs pealed and sizzled; a pigeon biled in milk; some baked punkin; eel’s tails soused; and some no-cake. CAPT. M. What! what! what! Are you going to stuff me to death, or poison me—which? HANK. Oh, sir! you needn’t eat ’em all. The Injuns said if you eat just the right thing for you, you’d be sure to get well. CAPT. M. I dare say. They’d cure a dog with their charms and their notions. HANK. Some of the vittals is good, and some pretty middlin’ poor, but it’s all good for suthin’,— or the pigs! CAPT. M. (_laughing_). I shouldn’t wonder. (_Looking over the waiter._) What’s baked punkin for, Hank? It looks like raw, dried potato-parings. HANK. The Indians said ’twas to chaw, and give you an appetite. MARY (_from the wheel-house_). What in the world are the soused eel’s-tails for? HANK. Oh, to make you feel lively, and cherk you up a little. They make brains. CAPT. M. What next? What’s the no-cake for, and where is it? Cake sounds kind o’ good. And hot biscuit. Mother’s hot biscuit! Oh! how I should like some of them. HANK. Well, the no-cake is that aire white stuff piled up on that aire plate. It looks like something goodish; but when you chaw it, it feels like sand. The Injuns eat it, and they said ’twould make the cap’n sleep good.