"Suppose the doctor should be frozen?
He hadn't a ha'porth of warmth in him last night, and his voice sounded like a whisper in a speaking-trumpet.

Will the bones do now?
Yes, the bones will do now.

Into the saucepan with you," cried John Want, suiting the action to the word, "and flavor the hot water if you can! When I remember that I was once an apprentice at a pastry-cook's--when I think of the gallons of turtle-soup that this hand has stirred up in a jolly hot kitchen--and when I find myself mixing bones and hot water for soup, and turning into ice as fast as I can; if I wasn't of a cheerful disposition I should feel inclined to grumble.

John Want! John Want! whatever had you done with your natural senses when you made up your mind to go to sea ?" A new voice hailed the cook, speaking from one of the bed-places in the side of the hut.

It was the voice of Francis Aldersley.
"Who's that croaking over the fire ?" "Croaking ?" repeated John Want, with the air of a man who considered himself the object of a gratuitous insult.