After awhile, the Chinese cook comes down with a tray of chow. Ugh—I can close my eyes now, think of that goo and get seasick! The very sight and smell of it, added to the musty air of the forecastle and the rollin' of the ship, knocked us over and we shooed Mr. Cook away. That was one thing us and our guards agreed on. They chased the Chinaman out of the place with a storm of rare oaths, windin' up by throwin' their own platters of eats after him in disgust.
Ptomaine Joe was just a chump as a box fighter, but in a kitchen I have yet to see his equal, no kiddin'! Children, what that big goof could do with a skillet would make the Fitz-Charlton chef take cyanide! Ptomaine knew more about cookin' than Bryan does about ridicule and he immediately begins discoursin' on some of the delicious poultices he'd served up to Kid Roberts on various occasions. The man-mountain's pain-stakin' descriptions of these ravishin' dishes is so appetizin' that the two sailors' mouths soon begins to water and after questionin' Ptomaine till they satisfied themselves he really was a Grade-A cook, they got more friendly. One of 'em tells us the ship ain't bound for China or no place else, but is simply sailin' out in the bay where the fight between the mate and Kid Roberts is to be staged. He adds that the captain give his permission for the fracas to take place on board the lugger to please the crew, which is on the brinks of mutiny on the account of the horrible cookin' of the Chinese chef. At this interestin' point, Kid Roberts butts in to ask angrily if the captain
