The cook had no need to cry "second half." Dan and Manuel were down the hatch and at table ere Tom Platt, last and most deliberate of the elders, had finished wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Harvey followed Penn, and sat down before a tin pan of cod's tongues and sounds, mixed with scraps of pork and fried potato, a loaf of hot bread, and some black and powerful coffee.

Hungry as they were, they waited while "Pennsylvania" solemnly asked a blessing.

Then they stoked in silence till Dan drew breath over his tin cup and demanded of Harvey how he felt.
"'Most full, but there's just room for another piece." The cook was a huge, jet-black negro, and, unlike all the negroes Harvey had met, did not talk, contenting himself with smiles and dumb-show invitations to eat more.
"See, Harvey," said Dan, rapping with his fork on the table, "it's jest as I said.

The young an' handsome men--like me an' Pennsy an' you an' Manuel--we 're second ha'af, an' we eats when the first ha'af are through.