"Croaking?
You don't find your own voice at all altered for the worse--do you, Mr.Frank?
I don't give _him_," John proceeded, speaking confidentially to himself, "more than six hours to last.

He's one of your grumblers." "What are you doing there ?" asked Frank.
"I'm making bone soup, sir, and wondering why I ever went to sea." "Well, and why did you go to sea ?" "I'm not certain, Mr.Frank.Sometimes I think it was natural perversity; sometimes I think it was false pride at getting over sea-sickness; sometimes I think it was reading 'Robinson Crusoe,' and books warning of me _not_ to go to sea." Frank laughed.

"You're an odd fellow.

What do you mean by false pride at getting over sea-sickness?
Did you get over sea-sickness in some new way ?" John Want's dismal face brightened in spite of himself.

Frank had recalled to the cook's memory one of the noteworthy passages in the cook's life.
"That's it, sir!" he said.