"You look able to," went on the cabin-boy. "My, don't I wish I was as strong as you!"
"You will be some day, Phil."
Phil shook his head.
"I reckon not—leastwise, not while I have to live such a dog's life as this on the Spitfire. Say, are them your clothes?" he went on, pointing to the articles of wearing apparel Lowell had given me.
"I presume they are—for this trip. But I don't fancy them much."
And the smell of grease on them was decidedly unpleasant.
"You'll get used to them after a while. Things on the Spitfire ain't as clean as they might be, although the captain keeps me hustling to keep the cabin tidy. Can I help you any?"
Before I could decline Phil's kind offer a dark form appeared at the entrance to the forecastle.
"Hi, Phil, you rat, come out of that!" roared Captain Hannock, savagely. "What business have you got in there? Git into the cabin and lively, or I'll warm you good!"
Phil made a break for the deck. As he passed the captain, that brute raised his brawny hand and boxed him on the side of the head.