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Just as he was wondering what the next thing would be, he heard the mate roar, “Supper.” More wonder, it was not yet dark, and could it be possible that at sea they had supper in the daytime? None of his books of adventure had told him that there are only three meals a day in the Mercantile Marine, breakfast, dinner, and supper, the latter answering to our tea at home as far as the hour is concerned.

He stood wondering, until the second mate, passing, said kindly, “Now, my lad, go and get your supper, you’ll want it before to-morrow morning.”

Frank murmured, “Thank you, sir,” and almost mechanically went towards the house he had put his traps in, being met at the door by one of the last year’s apprentices, who said, “Now then, none o’ yer skulking; go to the galley and get the supper, and be quick about it.” At the same time thrusting two tin quart-pots into his hands.

Frank obeyed, for fortunately he knew where the galley was, and presenting himself at its door, said to a very hideous negro he saw there, “Please, I’ve come for the supper for the apprentices.”