should boiled be, und you haf roasted it on der oven alretty yet."
"Sure, Vm baking it. That's the proper way to do it. I'll steam it afterward."
"Ach! Vot a foolishness vaste of der good t'ings," was the cook's despairing remark.
"Fellows, there's going to be some fun before this plum duff is made," prophesied Paul Drew.
"It sure looks that way," agreed Frank, as he balanced himself on his hands and head on a coil of rope.
Dick was in and out of the galley several times. On each occasion he seemed to have accumulated a little more flour on his clothes or face. Finally, after more than an hour's work, he announced triumphantly:
"Now, fellows, it's done, and I want old Widdy to have the first sniff of it. He said I couldn't make one, and I want to show him that I can. Ask him to step here, Tim."
The newsboy found the old salt splicing a rope, and soon Widdy, having put away his pipe, stumped toward the galley. Dick emerged, gaily bearing on a large platter a round, brown, smoking object, with a cloud of steam hovering over it, and a most appetizing odor wafting from it all about the deck.
"Here, Widdy, take a look at this!" cried Dick, proudly. "Is this plum duff, such as you used to get, or not?"
