declared Dick. "I'm going to try, too. Do you think the crew would like some?"
"Dash my belayin' pin, but they would!" exclaimed Widdy.
"That settles it!" cried the young yacht owner. "I'll make a lot, and we'll have some aft, too, fellows."
"Not any for mine, thank you," said Frank Bender, hastily, moving off to try a new acrobatic stunt he had been practising.
"Why not?" asked Dick, somewhat indignantly.
"I don't believe you know the difference between plum duff and sea biscuit," was Frank's answer, and he dodged behind a deck chair, to be safe, in case Dick threw anything at him.
"You'll see," was the yacht owner's comment, as he moved toward the galley, where a fat German cook, Hans Weyler, presided.
Dick's chums wanted to see him at work, but he shut himself in with the cook, and soon curious sounds proceeded from the galley. There was the rattle of pots and pans, and an occasional deep-voiced German exclamation, followed by Dick's calm words.
"Ach himniel! Vy you do it dot way?" cried the cook, so that he could be heard from one end of the yacht to the other.
"Because that's the right way," answered Dick.
"But, oxcuse me, Herr Hamilton, dot stuff
