with the other hungry sailors at their heels. We followed the crowd and reached the forecastle in time to see Ptomaine pointin' with pride to the mess table groanin' under the weight of eats he'd cooked up whilst the fight was goin' on. The Chinese cook is tied to a post, fifteen stilettos on each glance he give us!
Well, one look and one smell was enough for the starved sailors and forgettin' their rage they dove in with glad yells, fairly wolfin' down the food. We left 'em gorgin' and come up on deck for air, everybody congratulatin' the highly pleased Ptomaine on havin' cooked our way out of a extremely ticklish situation. The much relieved captain headed the ship back for the dock and Ptomaine begins writin' out recipes for chafin' dish specialties for Angela Yerkes, at her urgent request.
When Angela fin'ly went in the captain's cabin to concoct her sensational story for the "Morning Shriek" and Kid Roberts was himself again, we're leanin' over the rail, watchin' the lights of Frisco loom up on the water. Each is busy with his own thoughts and I broke the silence.
"Phew—what a night!" I says, "Well, anyways, we leave this burg to-morrow, thank—"
"Where d'ye get that we stuff?" butts in Ptomaine, "You mean you leave! To-morrow I'm goin' to show Angela how to cook chicken à la king at her apartment and after that we're goin' to a seven-reel picture, so I may never leave here. I talk a mean movie and I can do myself a lot of good in seven reels!"
