“You’d better stop talking that way, captain,” laughed Merry, “or you’ll ruin your voice. Don’t try to talk down in the hold all the time. Come up on deck!”
“Sir,” scowled little Jack, “you should address your superior officer in a more respectful manner. I will not have it, sir.”
“Ay! ay! sir.”
“That’s the stuff! No, I mean that’s right. Shiver my timbers and dash my toplights! I’m a rough old tar; but I am master of my own ship. Get onto your job here, and help me jib up the sheet.”
Frank aided Jack in spreading the tablecloth, assuring him at the same time that “get onto your job” was not a thoroughly nautical expression.
The coffee pot was set to simmering on the stove, and in a short time supper was ready.
Little Nell did not come to the table, but Frank took her food to her, and aided her in eating it. All the while he talked to her in his jolly way, and she declared that she had never eaten such a pleasant supper.
“Here! here!” cried the lame boy, rapping on the table; “on this vessel I will not permit such familiarity with my first officer and the man before the mast. It is certain to result in poor discipline. Break away, there!”
“You’ll have to take another trip to sea, captain, before you get rid all your landlubber expressions. ‘Break away’ is pretty bad.”
When the meal was over, Frank took the lame boy’s guitar, put it in tune, and strummed away on it for some time, while Jack and Nellie listened. Frank played strange little bits of his own composing, some of them lively, some soft and pathetic. He sang one or two of the old college songs, and then turned to and helped Jack clear the table and wash the dishes.