TWENTY FATHOMS DOWN
that gruel for you, Nep, but I don't know what it'll be like, for I never made none!"
"It doesn't matter," murmured Nelson. "I'm not hungry."
"Makes no difference. If the luff says you eat, you eat if it kills you."
Nelson digested that in silence a moment. Then: "How many are there aboard here?" he asked.
"Three officers and twenty-one men. And one fresh young Reservist," he added as an afterthought.
"Meaning me? If you call me fresh I'll report to Clancy that your gruel's no good."
"Clancy? That club-footed, knock-kneed galoot! Much I care about Clancy. Where's that package o' oatmeal I had once? Gruel on a submarine! They'll be askin' for asparagus and artichokes next!"
A new party of men entered, three capable looking youngsters not much older than Nelson, and only removing their sea-boots, climbed into bunks. They viewed Nelson with a sort of tired interest, but asked no questions. In something less than three minutes as many new and assorted snores were added to the symphony. Occasionally a sailor passed through toward the bow, or hurried
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