“Why not?”
“Because the men are listening, and one of ’em may report what you say.”
“He’d better,” said Smith defiantly. “I’m not afraid to speak. It was all out of his niggling meddlesomeness, so as to show off before the men.” But all the same he spoke in a low voice that could only be heard by our companion who held the lines.
“There, never mind all that bother,” cried Barkins. “I say, how would you like to live in one of those house-boats?”
“I call it pretty good cheek of the pigtailed humbugs to set up house-boats,” cried Smith. “They imitate us in everything.”
“And we don’t imitate them in anything, eh?” said Barkins. “Hi! look out, old Chin-chin, or we shall run you down,” he shouted to a man in a sampan.
“My! what a hat!” cried Smith. “Why, it would do for an umbrella. Port, Barkins.”
“All right; I won’t sink him. Pull away, my lads.”
“I say,” I cried, as we rowed by an enormous junk, with high poop and stern painted with scarlet and gold dragons, whose eyes served for hawseholes; “think she’s a pirate?”
“No,” said Barkins, giving a look up at the clumsy rig, with the huge matting-sails; “it’s a tea-boat.”