But there's one certain cure for it." "Cure ?" said Mr.Chalk, turning a glazing eye upon him.
"Yes, sir," said Brisket, with a warning glance at Mr.Stobell, who was grinning broadly.

"It's old-fashioned and I've heard it laughed at, but it's a regular good old remedy.

Mr.Stobell's laughing at it," he continued, as a gasping noise from that gentleman called for explanation, "but it's true all the same." "What is it ?" inquired Mr.Chalk, with feeble impatience.
"Pork," replied Captain Brisket, with impressive earnestness.

"All that anybody's got to do is to get a bit o' pork-fat pork, mind you--and get the cook to stick a fork into it and frizzle it, all bubbling and spluttering, over the galley fire.

Better still, do it yourself; the smell o' the cooking being part of----" Mr.Chalk arose and, keeping his legs with difficulty, steadied himself for a moment with his hands on the companion, and disappeared below.
"There's nothing like it," said Brisket, turning with a satisfied smile to Mr.Stobell, who was sitting with his hands on his knees and rumbling with suppressed mirth.