He now jumped up, making the boat rock perilously, and drawing a howl of protest from his fellow-mariners. Throwing out an arm he began to issue orders in traditional sea-dog style.
"Now then, my hearties!" he bellowed. "Lay on there, you pack of land-lubbers! Hoist the keel to the capstan-head—throw the main deck overboard! Step lively, now!"
"Oh, my only aunt!" groaned Patch, who felt distinctly unsafe in his position right underneath the straddling, swaying figure of Symonds. "You burbling lunatic—!"
"Belay there!" sang out Jack, unheeding. "Reel in the scuppers—make fast the poop!"
"Sit down, you're rocking the boat!" implored Patch in anguished accents.
"Unship the propeller-shaft—get a head of steam in the bowsprit!" came the amazing orders.
"Sit down!" wailed Patch. "You colossal idiot, sit—ouch! Gerroff!"
Jack had obeyed the order—quite involuntarily, as it happened. The bows of the boat had encountered a short, choppy sea, and Jack was sent flying into Patch's lap as a result.
"Wow!" gasped the inventor. "You're crushing—life out of—gerrup! Help!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" gurgled the three unfeeling spectators.