"Waiter, bring me some meat that isn't burnt," said Sam.
"And bring me some that is fresh," added Harold Bird.
"And bring me a cup of coffee that is worth more than ten cents a pound," came from Songbird. "This is nothing but mud."
"Even this bread is next door to being sour," said Fred.
"Yah, dis vos der vorst tinner vot I efer see alretty!" was Hans' comment. "I vos make a kick py der cabtain, ain't it!"
"Sorry, gen'men," said the waiter. "But dat meat am de best we have, an' dar ain't no udder kind ob coffee an' bread, sah!"
"Whose fault is it, the cook's or the captain's?" asked Tom.
At this question the waiter shrugged his shoulders. Then he leaned over and whispered into Tom's ear.
"Wish yo' would make a kick—I hates to serve sech food—'deed I does!"
The boys left the table half hungry and so did the other passengers. Dick walked up to one of the others.
"Don't you think we ought to make them serve us with better food?" he asked, flatly.
"I do, sir," was the answer of the passenger. "But the cook said it was the best he had. He
