"Oh, av course a frog-atin' Frinchman loike you, Dashalong, would think
any kind av fish a reg'lar feast."
Deschaillon leaned over to inspect his portion. "Now eet does very
well--to wax zee mustache, Mike." He twirled his own.
Caradoc grunted disapproval of such doubtful table talk, arose and left
the rough company and rough fare with supercilious condemnation.
"Your friend's appetite sames as dilicate as his wor-rkin' powers,"
observed Hogan as he watched the Englishman stoop and disappear through
the doorway.
Madden smiled. "We didn't work any too hard this afternoon, did we?"
Mike and Pierre proved droll companions, ready to jibe at anyone or
anything in perfect good nature, so that it was an hour before Leonard
strolled outside. As he had no further duty, he climbed a long ladder to
the top of the high dock wall and walked forward toward the bridge.
By this time the sun had set and left the world filled with a luminous
yellow afterglow. The estuary of the Thames had widened abruptly off
Sheerness, and far to the south was the dim line of chalk cliffs that
England thrusts toward France. Overhead stretched a translucent
yellow-green sky with the long black line of the _Vulcan's_ smoke
marking it.
Leonard moved across the bridge slowly.
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