"Dish yer wha' I calls a mighty scrumptious repas'," exclaimed Solon,
after a long silence devoted to appeasing the pangs of his hunger.
"But fo' de true ole-time cookin' gib me de Moss Back kitchin befo' de
wah."
"I specs dat ar' berry good in hits way," remarked Quorum; "same time I
hain't nebber eat nuffin kin compare wif de cookin' er dem Seminyole
Injuns what libs in de Ebberglades. Dat's whar I takin my lesson."
"Sho, gen'l'muns! 'pears to me lak you don't nebber go on er deep-sea
v'yge whar you gets de genuwine joe-flogger, an' de plum-duff, an' sich
like," said Nimbus, the yacht's cook. "Ef you had, you wouldn' talk."
In the luminous after-saloon the other party was seated at a table
white with snowy damask, and gleaming with silver, which was at once
the pride and care of old Mateo, the Portuguese steward.
It was a party so overflowing with merriment and laughter, jokes and
stories, that from one end of the table the young owner of the yacht
was moved to call to his friend at the other,
"I say, Wolfe, this reminds me of the mess aboard the old _Fish Hawk_,
when we were 'Dorymates' together off Iceland."
"It reminds me," said Glen Elting, "of the jolly mess of the Second
Division, when Billy Brackett and Binney and I were 'Campmates'
together in New Mexico."
Said Sumner Rankin, "It reminds me of the cabin mess of the _Transit_,
when we went 'Canoemates' together, through the Everglades.
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