I declare," he said,
examining them by the flickering light, "there are
bunches of pain all over them!"
"P'r'aps," said Trot, who was very glad to sit down
beside her companions, "you've got corns."
"Corns? Nonsense! Orks never have corns," protested
the creature, rubbing its sore feet tenderly.
"Then mebbe they're - they're - What do you call 'em,
Cap'n Bill? Something 'bout the Pilgrim's Progress, you
know."
"Bunions," said Cap'n Bill.
"Oh, yes; mebbe you've got bunions."
"It is possible," moaned the Ork. "But whatever they
are, another day of such walking on them would drive me
crazy."
"I'm sure they'll feel better by mornin'," said Cap'n
Bill, encouragingly. "Go to sleep an' try to forget
your sore feet."
The Ork cast a reproachful look at the sailor-man,
who didn't see it. Then the creature asked plaintively:
"Do we eat now, or do we starve?"
"There's only half a biscuit left for you," answered
Cap'n Bill. "No one knows how long we'll have to stay
in this dark tunnel, where there's nothing whatever to
eat; so I advise you to save that morsel o' food till
later.
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