The foreign element comprised an
Irishman named Mike Hogan and the Frenchman whom the boys had met when
they first came aboard. The crowd called him Dashalong. Upon inquiry,
Leonard found it to be Deschaillon. The young man who read the articles
was named Farnol Greer. However, he proved a silent, taciturn youth, who
seemed to converse with no one and to have no friends.
In the long narrow eating cabin mingled the clean smell of newly sawed
lumber and the odor of poor cookery. The meal proved rather worse than
ordinary steerage food. After the first taste Smith put it by,
grumbling. Leonard, who was hungry, consumed about half of his.
Beef stew and boiled white fish formed the menu. Perhaps there is
nothing quite so slippery and disheartening as boiled white fish grown
luke warm or cold. The navvies ate ravenously enough, but Hogan and
Deschaillon were not so wolfish.
Mike speared a bit on his fork and regarded it sadly. "This fish reminds
me uv a fun'ril," he observed, "an' yonder lad looks to be chief
mourner," he nodded toward Farnol Greer.
"He ees not mourning over the feesh," declared Deschaillon gayly. "He
ees struck on heemself, and found his affection ees misplaced."
Madden laughed. The spirits of the Celt and the Gaul seemed to improve
as their fare grew worse.
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