gossip, its topics of conversation? To draw him on business at
once would have been almost indecent--or even worse: impolitic.
All I could do at the moment was to keep on in the old groove.

"Are the provisions generally dear here?" I asked, fretting
inwardly at my inanity.

"I wouldn't say that," he answered placidly, with that appearance
of saving his breath his restrained manner of speaking suggested.

He would not be more explicit, yet he did not evade the subject.
Eyeing the table in a spirit of complete abstemiousness (he
wouldn't let me help him to any eatables) he went into details of
supply. The beef was for the most part imported from Madagascar;
mutton of course was rare and somewhat expensive, but good goat's
flesh--

"Are these goat's cutlets?" I exclaimed hastily, pointing at one of
the dishes.

Posed sentimentally by the sideboard, the steward gave a start.

"Lor', no, sir! It's real mutton!"

Mr. Burns got through his breakfast impatiently, as if exasperated
by being made a party to some monstrous foolishness, muttered a
curt excuse, and went on deck. Shortly afterwards the second mate
took his smooth red countenance out of the cabin. With the
appetite of a schoolboy, and after two months of sea-fare, he
appreciated the generous spread. But I did not. It smacked of