Louis, the boat-steerer, had already begged me for condensed milk and sugar.

The lazarette, where such delicacies were stored, was situated beneath the cabin floor.
Watching my chance, I stole five cans of the milk, and that night, when it was Louis's watch on deck, I traded them with him for a dirk as lean and cruel-looking as Thomas Mugridge's vegetable knife.

It was rusty and dull, but I turned the grindstone while Louis gave it an edge.

I slept more soundly than usual that night.
Next morning, after breakfast, Thomas Mugridge began his whet, whet, whet.

I glanced warily at him, for I was on my knees taking the ashes from the stove.