Page:Barbour--Lost island.djvu/77

 was in the mood to be communicative, though Dave had to sort out the hints from a maze of contradictory statements.

"It's a reglar dog's life at sea," said the cook, while Dave was stirring a mysterious compound in a large basin. Barnes seemed to have a fondness for that expression. "I dunno why kids like you want to come on a ship. An' yet it's all right at times, such as when you get ashore. The best part of bein' at sea is goin' ashore, I allus says. Did n't I see you runnin' your legs off for Oleson this morning?" he demanded ferociously, without the slightest warning.

"Who's Oleson?" Dave asked. He had been performing a variety of duties for so many people.

"Oleson is that great, lumbering, Swedish seaman who looks like a one-eyed mule." Dave recognized the vague description by the fact that one man wore a patch over his left eye.

"Yes, he asked me to—"